Chronicles of a Hellhound
by CN7
Summary: Made famous for valor surrounding the Reaper War, their faces are known but not their hearts and minds. I hope to amend that error as their personal friend so that future generations will truly understand this story. The following manuscripts semi-autobiographically detail the lives of Commander Ernest Jay Shepard and his one true love-Miss Miranda Lawson. And I wish to honor them.
1. Prologue

**From the desk of Dr. Liara T'Soni:**

_For quite some time, my profession and eagerness to understand has resulted in my being quite privy to many of the galaxy's biggest and most well kept secrets. Some fifty-thousand years old, and others just leaving the mouths from which they were first whispered. So, when I was presented with a plethora of new, personal information regarding two of my closest friends and asked to translate it nearly two-hundred years later, I was quite surprised._

_Made famous for their heroics and valor surrounding the events of the Reaper War, their faces have been forever cemented in the apex of the galaxy's history books. Most would even say that they were the driving forces of our success- the nail and hammer, the tip of the spear. They had been unwillingly dragged into the limelight as symbols of strength and freedom. One as a paragon of what had always been merciful and the other a renegade for absolute justice. I can contest to the fact that a good number of the dramatized accounts of their tale have been fairly accurate about the big picture and 'plot' behind their siege of battle. But, no matter how the vids, and the scholars, and the history books, and the news articles have described their stories, none have truly ever cracked beneath the surface of the people the galaxy wants to see them as. None have ever peeled back the layers to understand who they really were, and why they meant what they did to one another._

_However, for the sake of honoring them properly, I would like to amend that- at least for those individuals with a high enough security clearance. I want to alleviate any biased misconceptions the reader may have regarding these two individuals. Too many absurd and superficial ideas have tainted not only their images, but their successes and failures as well. So, above all else I would like the reader to understand their mortality. That these two were people like any other with equal faults and virtues, sins and morals. Neither were perfect, despite the efforts made by various others to make them so. They were stubborn, sometimes indecisive, they could procure the most asinine solutions, they could be wrathful, sometimes foolish. Many of his successes could be attributed to sheer dumb luck, hers to remarkable objectivism._

_He was not a god sent to the mortal realm by the divine._

_She was not a hellhound unleashed to conquer and destroy._

_They were humans. Remarkable ones at that. Intelligent, influential, principled._

_And when they loved, they loved deeply._

_I suppose what I wish for most, is for the reader to know them just as I did. For the reader to care for them because of their actions leading up to our victorious final push, not in spite of them. To love them just as I had. To mourn in their sorrows, to delight in their joys, laugh with them, understand their fury, relish in their triumphs, share their tears. Just as I had when I had the heart and privilege._

_The most raw facts of the commander's history are not topics of debate._

_Born to Hannah, a decorated Alliance Naval Officer, and James Shepard, an Alliance Marine and later private sector Merchant Marine, in early April of 2154, Ernest Shepard spent the majority of his young life aboard ships and space stations where he became accustomed to tight schedules, cramped corridors, and the enthusiastic and progressive nature of humanity's driving force. At the precocious age of fourteen, Shepard wound up in one of many places he never had proper authorization to access-a faulty drive core. There, shielding two friends from a malfunctioning eezo containment cell, he received accidental secondary exposure to element zero and manifested permanent biotic abilities. Despite the suspicions humans held against biotics during those early years of their prowess in the galactic community, Shepard went on to become one of the most powerful wielders of the L3 implant. Combined with an amazingly disciplined level head, an optimistic and sunny disposition, and a knack for combat and tech, upon graduation from basic training he was invited to attend the Interplanetary Combatives Training School and quickly ascended the proficiency ranks. Those skills prepared him for the horrors he faced on Akuze in 2177, where he was the sole survivor amongst the fifty marines violently slaughtered by thresher maws. A lesser mind may not have been able to withstand the savage outcome, but the young marine was resilient and earned the classification of N7 for his valor in the face of imminent death. During the ending month of 2182 he had been promoted to Lieutenant Commander and received one of his most notorious assignments as the Executive Officer of the prototype stealth frigate, SSV Normandy SR-1._

_Initially a trial run, what began as an observation for his induction into the Spectres became a total war for the mere existence of all sentient life in the galaxy. His discovery of the Reapers led him on a spiral of chaotic journeys, and he tried to rally the powers that be to support his mission to preserve our right of existence. Aboard the SR-1 he lived, fought, befriended many, knew the pain of loss, was doubted, and was killed. Although many still second guess that as plausible, despite the exorbitant amount of vids that have attempted to recreate his story, I can attest to his body's first passing in 2183._

_It was during that devastating interlude in his life that I happened upon the most driven woman I have ever met in all my years. Her intelligence and diligence reanimated the very corpse I had so trustingly placed in her hands, with not a hair out of place. Perfect and unchanged._

_Not days after his return to the waking world, he began yet another quest to prevent those abominations, devoid of their purpose, from harvesting our very way of life aboard the newly improved SSV Normandy SR-2. Over the course of the next few years, he strove to warn and protect us from what would have been our harrowing end. He assembled a menagerie of team members to fight at his side, created the strongest of friendships, forged the most unlikely alliances. And when the Reapers finally arrived on our threshold, Shepard united us as a galaxy and delivered the final blow against our nemesis at the height of the final battle._

_To hand over my best friend's body to a callous stranger with no more than a promise to bring him back was one of the greatest leaps of faith I'd ever taken, and for the fate of the galaxy, it was the best one I'd ever risked. Because of her work we were able to believe in something, to triumph._

_But what of that callous stranger?_

_Little has ever been publicly revealed about the elusive Miss Miranda Lawson regarding her background and inconspicuousness patterns during the Reaper War, apart from the hand she played in the ultimate destruction of a rogue human survivalist organization and her role as Shepard's lover. Over the course of time, several vid producers, historians, and investigative journalists have tried to peg her background, occupation, personality, talents, etc. Some have come close to the mark, most have fallen short._

_Years after the Reaper War, many questioned where humanity's new front-runner came from. She'd appeared before what remained of Alliance Parliament in the heat of battle- nameless and without a verifiable history- and extended a helping hand. As the humans say, none knew her from Adam._

_Truthfully, her childhood was unspeakably cruel. From a vague exterior, she was raised in a privileged household. But 'twas an illusion. She became brazen, cold, calculating, unapologetic. Only adding to honed intelligence, cunning, and devastating beauty. Perfect for the covert line of work she ended up in. Had it not been for her unfailing sense of loyalty to the man that became her moral compass._

_Out of all of us that were inducted into Shepard's innermost circle of trusted confidantes, comrades-in-arms, and beloved companions, she was his most treasured. Just as he was hers. Rivals that nurtured a bond of friendship, best friends that fostered an avid devotion to one another._

_If the vids have gotten one thing right, it is that theirs is a love story. But it is so much more than another generic box-office romance. Theirs is is a tale of pain, mortal hearts, sorrow, strife, and a love not just for each other but for every life worth saving._

_Most of these upcoming events I knew of by second or firsthand, personally witnessed them under siege of fire or trapped in dry dock, or I had been informed of through memory sharing. But there are a few facets of their history brought forward in this novel that bring an insightful glimpse of perspective that they had rarely explicitly shared with me. I have no doubt that they did not keep secrets to offend me. I believe that it is merely mortal nature to keep dark matters hidden, even from oneself. So, I have provided a few editorial provisions and excerpts of my own in reference to give the reader my thoughts as a third party that knew them extremely well. The following manuscripts are a compilation of commentaries, transcripts, recordings, and personal logs, semi-autobiographically detailing the lives of Commander Ernest Jay Shepard and his one true love-Miss Miranda Lawson. And I hope to serve that purpose well.__  
_

* * *

_**A/N:**_Hey guys! So this is going to be a lot of fun to write I think, and I really hope you enjoy reading it. I want to really delve into Miranda's mind. She's such a fascinating character, and my personal favorite LI. I feel like this chapter was a bit touch and go to give insight into Miranda's childhood and build her background a bit, the next one will have a bigger focal point. It'll also include more action and excitement.

_This is indeed a Shep/Miranda fanfic. And it will be a novelization of ME2, 3, and so on!_ Not to worry, their romance will blossom and they will begin a to really interact with each other in the log stories very soon, with lots of little mentionings throughout this early part. I plan to have this fic's timeline run from childhood, throughout the entire Mass Effect trilogy, and into the aftermath of the Reaper War. It'll be a big one, and I'll probably have to make it a three-parter.

It'll be fun. Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think, any suggestions or concerns you have, etc. I would love to hear your thoughts! Please review!

-CN7

_02/24/2014- _I've made some serious provisions to the next four chapters- chapters 1-5- regarding Laira's role, and adjustments to grammar. Including this one.


	2. Beginnings Pt 1 Childhood

**Chronicles** **Project Began and Entry Adapted: April 11, 2386**

By the time the Reapers appeared at our galaxy's threshold I had become quite accustomed to keeping my ears pricked for information, and that habit was not forgotten even amongst my friends. Sometimes I even took the liberty of recording our conversations. Of course, there was never ill intent behind my motives. I simply wished to be able to conserve as much information as possible on a few very important individuals in time capsules placed strategically around the galaxy. Time capsules meant to enlighten and aide the next cycle in the event that we did not succeed in our quest to defeat the Reapers.

A number of my friends, including Shepard, felt that I knew them well enough to dictate their entries. Regardless I still found that some were better told firsthand, and at times I found the commander more than happy to appease that wish. In contrast with Miranda, whose early years were austere and callous, dictated by a madman, Shepard had always been very open and at ease with divulging his happy- though relatively unstable childhood spent aboard vessels and space stations. I'm surprised I received as much from her as I did. If one thing should become evident to the reader in the coming passages, it is that Miranda was fiercely independent, and extremely protective of those she was loyal to. Albeit, ruthless calculus became Miranda's first nature at an early age.

The reader should also take note that many of the upcoming depictions of the infamous Collector Chase, Reaper War, and subsequent events were never intended for public record. Only now that her time and Shepard's have come and gone, and the galaxy is in desperate need of a reminder of their sacrifice, do I find them appropriate and secure enough to divulge.

**Beginnings**

**Part I: Childhood**

_**Personal Log Originally Recorded: April 22, 2186**_

_**31 Solar Days Pre Reaper Invasion of Earth (4 1/2 weeks)**_

_**Subject: Miranda Lawson**_

_**{Encrypted Message}**_

Liara,

Dammit. This isn't my favorite topic by a long shot, but your request has provided me with a much needed, shall I say, _distraction_ from this free time I'm allotting...And for a friend I suppose I can withstand sparing a few details along the way. So I've sent you what I can for now. I apologize if it's not enough for your project. Thank you for your update on Shepard. Glad to know he's alright being held in that facility. If you do get the chance to see him soon, tell him that I miss..._{statement retracted}_. I heard from my sister yesterday. It was brief, but for the time being I know she's safe. Her behavior is still unsettling. I'm going to get in touch with a contact of mine. If I need your help I'll let you know. But for now, I'll be fine.**  
**

Good hunting. If anyone can find 50,000 year old relics in some god forsaken wasteland, it's you.

-ML

_**{Attached Document, Encrypted}**_

Birth isn't precisely how I would describe my arrival into this life, nor would I say conception is what led to my making. A more accurate portrayal of events is that I was created in a laboratory by humanity's most prestigious bioengineers, and _harvested_ by a man with an ego the size of Illium's economy. But, to keep things in simple terms I was born on Friday, November 13, 2150, in Hunters Hill, Australia to one mistakenly esteemed businessman, Henry Lawson.

I had no mother. Not really. The closest thing I ever had to a biological female parent was the woman from whom my father _borrowed_ an empty shell of an egg to place his duplicated X-chromosome into. With every carefully selected gene in place, every strand of my perfect DNA mapped accordingly. Even if a mother had been in my life, I doubt she'd have lasted long. My father was a jealous god.**  
**

I went through more governesses and tutors than I care to remember, because as soon as I grew attached to one, they were stripped from me like yesterday's news. I can hardly recall the first occurrence, but I was merely an infant then. The second time my caretaker was sent away-on record-was the morning of my fourth birthday.

On Earth, November sits at the end of the changing seasons. In the northern hemisphere that season is autumn, and spring in the southern-where the Australian continent rests. Human culture has often associated these sub-divisions of the year with symbols of death and rebirth respectively-a piece of tradition that's never really sat well with me. Possibly because it holds true for myself. However, they're also the most common times for humans to contract colds. And in spite of my genetic tailoring, my hardly utilized immune system was no exception.

The evening before she left, I was seated on the bench before Father's custom C. Bechstein D 282 concert piano drilling away at the keys, attempting to perfect Mozart's Minuet in G. I had long ago surpassed mere scales. Three hours into the final lesson of my rigorous daily schedule, and I had been exhausted. My eyes were dry, my sinuses overly pressurized, and I desperately wished to adjourn for the night. Unfortunately as a toddler, I had not quite learned that what I wanted and what my father wanted were very different things.

For the first time since I could remember, I halted abruptly during the middle of a song, startling both my piano teacher and my father-who was using me to entertain yet another party member to his board of executives. If I had been older, I'd have taken pleasure in their reaction. I rubbed my eyes and sniffled, turning to meet my father's hard stare. The time had to be going on midnight. "Father, I don't feel well. May I stop?"

The bastard frowned even more deeply as I coughed. Any detour from his carefully regimented day for me was a nuisance, an embarrassment. Especially one caused by weakness. "No. You still have an hour left, Miranda."

Perhaps this was when I learned personal complaints would get me nowhere in life, not when so much was expected out of someone with my abilities.

"Please, Father. I've been good all day. I'll practice longer tomorrow." I whined and a sudden urge to cry-a common action for a spent, human three year old-overwhelmed me. My reserves were drained. I had always been diligent in my tasks. It was expected, and I pushed myself to succeed. Why couldn't Father understand how exhausted I was just this once?

It's a tiring task, trying to understand the thought process of Narcissus.

"Keep playing." Purple began to cloud his stormy expression.

Beside me, my tutor wrung his hands nervously under my father's gaze. He rarely spoke to me apart from slapping my wrist away at the touch of an incorrect key, or to introduce me to a new song. My abilities had nearly eclipsed his at that point. I could read music just as well and teach myself new ballads most composers found difficult. The only dilemma I possessed was difficulty in reaching the pedals with my short legs. Yet, Father kept him on because I was not completely free of faults, I had not composed a masterpiece that would be engraved amongst the greats. My teacher's voice was harsh. "It's only an hour, Miranda."

"No." Such a protest had never reached Henry Lawson's ears before. And it was a dangerous one at that.

Helplessly, I glanced around to catch sight of Oola, the only person that I knew would always come to my rescue. My ever-vigilant caretaker swooped in like a bird of prey. She had often stood at the far end of the room, waiting to attend to me, to protect me. Even if it was unnecessary, but to her my well-being was a priority. And not simply because I was the reason she had a paycheck. Her soft, gentle, brown hands roamed straight to my forehead before quickly wiping away my tears and pulling me up into her arms. "Mr. Lawson, the child has a fever."

I can't recall the specific words exchanged between the two-with my face buried safely in Oola's shoulder-but I believe it was a brief exchange, merely a cold dismissal by Father perhaps. A permanent one.

Like every other night that I could remember up to that point, Oola bathed me, gave me a teaspoon of medicine, and tucked me into bed. Her fingers travelled through my long hair, and her warm eyes crinkled as she smiled at me-one of the last I'd ever see of it's kind. "Are you excited about tomorrow, Miri?"

"Why?" What did I have to be excited for? It would just be another day with a slight variation in schedule. There would be the same studies, same lectures, same loneliness. Only spent in a dress.

"It's your birthday tomorrow." She tried to insist, but I could see in her eyes that she was just hoping for a happiness I would never achieve under Henry Lawson's domain. "You'll have a party."

"No, I won't. It'll be Father's friends." That's all there ever had been at my prior birthday celebrations. Guests had never been- and never would be- children. I wasn't allowed friends. Father believed they would taint his most pristine piece of craftsmanship. Instead, Henry Lawson wined and dined a few dozen of the galaxy's most notorious and infamous bureaucrats in his estate's gardens to display his prize piece like a trophy, to extend business deals, to boast of his wealth, to remind his competitors of the perfect potential of their future business rival. But mostly to be admired- worshipped -as I stood silently by his side dressed up like a China doll in my newest gown- looked at but never played with. He would prop me up in his lap with a false smile for his companions, and disgustingly pretend for one day a year that he was proud of who and what I was. My birth was not the focal point of any celebration, it was the annual marking of my father's success of a guaranteed dynasty.

I despised it.

I was quiet for the briefest of moments. "Does Father love me?"

Oola was far too hesitant with her answer. War raged within her brown eyes. Could anyone be cruel enough to tell a child the miserable truth? She stroked my hair. "Now why would you ask something like that?"

I shrugged my small shoulders, sinking further into the downy pillow. "He's never told me he does."

"Sure, he does." She lied to me for the first time. "Some people just don't know how to say it."

"It's simple," I debated quietly, gazing up at her with the rose-colored lens only a child could see the world in. "Listen. 'I love you'."**  
**

I believe this was when I stopped believing in the phrase.

"Your father expresses it differently." Oola shook her head as she tried to conjure up any history of my father's affection. A nonexistent history, impossible to find. He never gazed at me with anything more than rapacity, never kissed away scraped knees, never offered me sanctuary from night terrors, never treated me like a daughter. Not even a person. "He gives you nice things."

Sure. He shipped in a piano the minute I mastered the scales, but for his own personal gain to entertain _his_ friends. "Never what I need. Besides, he always takes them away somehow."

My governess' countenance became irrevocably despondent and she pushed her lips to my forehead. "Well, I love you, Miri."

"I love you, too." Suddenly, hope stirred in my heart. Perhaps I could have someone there for me after all. "Will you come tomorrow?"

Oola kissed my forehead and made a comment about how my fever seemed to be going down already. She tried to smile when she refused to tell me that my father would never allow it. A servant at his gala? Preposterous. "Tell you what, we'll throw you a party of our own tomorrow night after your father's. We'll have a tea party in the kitchen. With scones and cakes, and I'll bring down Thomas to join us."

"Really? Will you, Oola? Thomas would like that very much." Or maybe it was just me.

Allow me to elaborate.

Friends were forbidden. So was anything else I could form a sentimental attachment to. That included but was not limited to pets, dolls, memorabilia, stuffed animals, etcetera. Thomas was Oola's and my secret. He was gifted to me by her the day she discovered my loneliness. Next to my nanny, the stuffed bear was my best friend-as trivial as that is for me to admit. Often, I'd pretend he had a soul, a voice, that he knew and cared about everything I was. Unfortunately, secrets were hard to keep in the estate, especially when Oola was no longer there to protect me from the most severe repercussions. The walls had ears. And I was eventually gifted with an ultimatum by the esteemed Mr. Lawson. Thomas could be kept, so long as he was reduced to ash. I collected every single ember. Such a foolish thing for me to do.

Father had an interesting way of giving me anything I ever wanted.**  
**

But, I digress.

Of course there would never be a tea party for the three of us. But up until that point in time, I was the most enthusiastic I had ever been for my birthday. Besides, Oola never broke a promise. Fate is a funny thing though, when it disagrees with you. So I learned to make my own vows a bit more carefully.

She interweaved our deal with a bedtime story favorite of mine, and a soft lullaby. Today, recollection of every single word to the song is like breathing, and it always will be regardless of my nearly eidetic memory. I fell asleep to the melody of her voice, and caress of her fingers.

I'm not sure what I'd have done differently if I'd known that Father would send her away in the morning. Pleaded? Cried? An unwise decision as it was, that's what I wound up doing.

I stumbled out of bed before the break of dawn to the sounds of infuriated protests on the ground floor. My internal clock was hardwired to wake me prior to dawn anyways. If it wasn't followed there were always severe consequences. But this morning I hadn't dressed and prepped myself. Instead, I careened down the marble grand staircase in pajamas with sleep-crusted eyes and unruly hair, wildly in search of the argument's source.

A door slammed haughtily just as I rounded the corner. A basket of Pink Ladies was overturned. Apples littered the ground. My maker glowered in the entryway with his hands folded behind his back. He almost completely disregarded me as I plastered my face to the window, only to witness two of the estate's armored guards escort Oola into an awaiting skycar. She was already gone, bag in hand, no farewells. I begged to know why, where she was going. My nanny had never left me before, but now she'd be lost to me forever.

Sniffing coldly, Henry Lawson's ego resonated through the pillared, marble room. Calmly rotating a Pink Lady in the palm of one hand, he took a bite and coolly told me, "You're not meant to love a governess, Miranda. They're tools of assistance, nothing more. I created you to be greater. Go get ready for your lessons."

Ridding me of a personal caretaker that I was deeply attached to was by no means the only deterrent my father imposed on me during my childhood. In fact I was gifted several constructive, symbolic lectures on traits like faith and how such trust was fruitless, discipline and the methods that could be utilized to achieve total control, how to way the odds in one's favor, value and how it should be placed accordingly based on an individual's usefulness, and discrepancy and how omission wasn't inevitably untruthful. Comparatively speaking, her discharge was child's play.

With all roadblocks either absent or coerced out of the way, I was completely his to mold. His first task was to break me, and he showed me-with gusto-just how he planned to do so the day he brought me to observe a right of passage for his youngest and most prized thoroughbred. On Earth, equestrian activities are mostly reserved for the wealthy and the elite, and horses are a rarity. My father owned an entire herd of racers, but Faster Than Light was something of a treasure amongst the flock.

Stemming from a lineage of the swiftest, strongest, and most intelligent champions of the past hundred years, he was bred for absolute perfection. Seventeen hands tall, willful, inquisitive, and powerful, Faster Than Light was shaping up to be just as sinewy and capable as his genealogy had predicted. But he was ornery, wild, and petulant enough to refuse be saddled. There had been so much fire in his eyes, and as a child, I knew his heart was meant to roam free of any constraints.

When the lasso finally encircled his broad neck, Faster Than Light resisted. He bucked and rolled, kicked and tugged, cried out in protest for a life under his own control. Three stable hands were required to pull him back onto all four hooves, five to steady him. Their tiresome duel lasted well over a half an hour until the steed ruefully took a knee. Even from my distance to the ring the stallion's eyes locked with mine, and I watched his resolve shatter like a crystal vase dropped from a fifth story window. Faster Than Light had been so lively and youthful in the fields the day before, yet at that moment he lay defeated amongst the dust. Any anger in his brown eyes had diminished to nothing. No spark left in his brown depths, not even a hint of anger. Just a hollow disappointment.

I took everything in as analytically as possible under my father's expectant stare. By age seven I had reigned in a grasp of stoicism to keep my thoughts my own. But had I been able to keep the shock from spreading into my countenance? I don't believe so, however my sudden and alarming fear was kept off my face. I didn't want Father to see that I was frightened of this treatment, that I knew he would do the same to me if it killed him-or me.

Faster Than Light served the purpose expected of him and excelled, but if he was ever content with his racing career, I couldn't tell. He became a successful drone of obligation, and I'd wondered what made him stop fighting. His choice of surrender initially infuriated me. How could he have given up so easily? Then I discovered the fates of the others less willing to comply. Sold or put down without hesitation. Suddenly I didn't begrudge him so much.

I'd like to have believed I was stronger-willed than a cherished racehorse. Yet, those times I had myself bleeding out of my ears and nose due to biotic exertion- simply to appease Father would stand as evidence against that. Perhaps though, it was one of those times trying to hone my capabilities and match them to the recently explored asari, that ultimately resulted in my abandonment of vying for my father's nonexistent affection. Or maybe it was all those times he exploited my use as an asset to increase his power and control.

Regardless of how much my hatred for the man grew, I was forced to reside under his rule, subject to his regime. I was his greatest investment, and he was not about to allow his billions of credits go to waste. My every limit was pushed to succeed and meet impossible odds. I earned my first degree at the age of thirteen, was instructed in biotics by asari commandos, learned to play twelve different instruments, speak eight languages fluently, perfected martial arts from around the world, drilled in the practices of business, politics, and sciences. There was never praise for my accomplishments. I didn't deserve it anyways. Every achievement was due entirely to a multitude of flawless and supremely manufactured genes. My gifts were not my own, and my father made that very clear. The only thing I could own were my mistakes. Errors were the only things that showed the black holes in my father's efforts. I both despised and treasured my blunders, but they did not give me purpose.

I suppose what actually gave me the meaning I searched for was the lapse of judgement in others. When I was allowed to interact with people, I was given the chance to admire the tenacity of human nature. I saw drive, mortality, ambition, and potential- all of it natural. I saw where they had shortcomings, and where I could put my talents to use. To better humanity.

That was how I came to befriend Niket- the one person in my childhood that demanded nothing of me, but gave everything in return.

In actuality, Niket was the one that demonstrated any ounce of virtue. For months I had dismissed him, just as I had with all other staff in my father's estate. They treated me with no additional kindness than what they were paid for, so I wasn't interested in taking the initiative. But the seventeen-year-old maintenance boy was. Each time he saw me he would go out of his way to greet me, ask me how my day was going, try to tell me about his own, about his immigrant family, lighten me up with a joke or compliment. It wasn't until the day my first biotic implant-what would become known as an L2 prototype, over two years before its intended release date-was installed, that I realized he wasn't an average sycophant desiring me for abilities or looks.

"Miranda, are you okay? You look a little pale." Niket tended to pester me just after my mid-afternoon lessons. That day, he had been assigned to resetting wiring outside of the kitchen, and I happened to be stumbling out of the recovery room to retrieve saltines and the first glass of water I'd had in over twenty-four hours. Father was suspicious regular hospitals would tamper with his finely tuned genetic dynasty, so my medical procedures were performed in the bowels of his estate's ambiguous labyrinth.

"I'm fine." I wanted to bite back a seething retort regarding his astute observation, yet all I could manage was to shoot him a withering glare. He should have known I didn't desire small talk. The day before he had managed to extract knowledge of my upcoming surgery. The pain the L1s had described from having chips placed at the base of their brain was nothing compared to the torment of an L2 lodged into the back of my head. My ears rang, my eyes burned past any promise of clear vision, my head thrummed at a mere pulse, nausea came over me in tidal waves. Then again, L1s could barely snap a toothpick, this prototype was meant to spike to levels on par with asari commandos. And if that fine control and power were possible, I could circumvent the immediate repercussions of post-op.

Or so I thought.

I hadn't wandered another meter past his post when the smell of that evening's meal preparation- for Henry Lawson and his perpetually present guests- struck me, and I became possessed with the urge to keel over in dry heaves. I wasn't about to show weakness in front of this servant boy though. I ignored the impulse and marched straighter, making my way through the gigantic, canteen-style kitchen. Niket tailed my every step, obviously doubting the truth in my statement. By the skittish expression plastered to his face, I was fully aware of his need to keep me under surveillance.

I practically snarled when he pulled up a chair at the nook well out of the way of any staff, and instructed me to sit.

What was his angle? To leech off a lonely, overly privileged fourteen-year-old? Why was he concerned if the boss' heir tipped over unconscious? To stake claim as my rescuer if my father asked why his science project's body rejected the implant? I was the pompous aristocrat that had discovered precisely how to read every ulterior motive a person indubitably maintained, but never how to bond with those individuals.

"Like hell." He sidestepped me, and blocked my every way with such a condescending smirk. I was consumed with the mad desire to rip it off his face. My rage was nearly as blinding as my migraine. This was not a time to play games. "Move, Niket, or I'll have you evicted."

That was untrue. Despite my reasonable misgivings and fury, I didn't have the heart to fire him. Not after every hour of storytelling he'd forced me to endure. Countless tales of his four younger siblings, and how he wanted to buy the youngest dance lessons because all she spoke of was becoming a ballerina. About his parents each working three jobs to provide for their large family, and how he wanted to take the pressure off of them by finding pay in Mr. Henry Lawson's estate. He was always so frustratingly sincere-unlike Father's bureaucratic companions.**  
**

He actually had the gall to laugh. Probably because my voice was hoarser than any smokers'. As disarming as his tone was, my irritation only inflated. "Relax, Miri. I only want to help."

Startled, my gaze snapped up. Too quickly, hence the distorted spinning of furniture and appliances. I attempted not to lean heavily against the counter. No one had called me that before. No one since Oola. And he had rattled off a precious nickname with surprising ease. The hostile expulsion I had prepared was suddenly all but forgotten. "Why?"

Niket graced me with an undeserved smile and shrugged kindly. "Because you look awful."

In all my years, no one had ever tried to win me over by discrediting my attractiveness. But Niket hadn't deliberately attempted to squander my ego out of malice. He had pointed out something about me that was completely and one-hundred percent human. In spite of my tailoring, my body was suffering PONV and ultimately disagreeing with the new, electrical pulses discharged into my neural synapses by Father's new toy, and he was legitimately concerned for my personal well-being. Mine. Not Henry Lawson's hereditary protege, or a longterm test subject too valuable to be thrown away. The notion almost made me grin. Almost. "Charming."

"Well, you know what I mean." His voice lowered to avoid prying ears. Needless. There were always eavesdroppers in my father's house, but information was privy. "You're probably not even supposed to be out of post-op."

My glare intensified. I could feel my knees longing to buckle under a dizzy spell. Technically, there was a bit of truth in his words. I may have told the nurse to bugger off. Miranda Lawson could handle anything. "I could throw you out the window with a single thought if I so wished."

"Right." He motioned to the chair once again, observing any remaining color drain from my face. "I'm sure that's immediately after your desire to jog all the way to the opera house and back at this very moment."**  
**

If I had demonstrated then and there just how capable a biotic I was, I'd have probably ended up in a vegetative state and replaced much sooner than planned. Admitting defeat was detestable. I huffed, folded my arms under my chest, and flopped unceremoniously into the seat. My cranium sang in protest. "Impossible."

"Not impossible. Just helpful." Niket threw me a congenial look, and scampered off to pilfer water and bland palatable snacks for two. My suspicious gaze never left him. He maneuvered the kitchen as though he knew it well, finding glasses and the regularly accessible pantry with ease. I had long ago discredited the possibility that he'd attempt anything funny. He was too smart for that. Number one in his class- a quality I begrudgingly admired. The liquid ambrosia was set before me ever so gently, without noise. When he plopped down beside me- much to my bristling animosity- he curiously gestured to the back of his head. "So, what's it supposed to do exactly?"

The vile flavor in my esophagus protested my urge to swallow anything. Bursting open a set of crackers, I laid one on my tongue to absorb the salt and convince my stomach otherwise. As it dissolved, I eyed my associate more closely, and rebuffed him. "Aren't you supposed to be working?"

"I'm taking a break," Niket shrugged, stuffing his face full of his own crisps.

"In the favor of my company?" I skeptically hissed.

His brown eyes were warm and inviting. "I enjoy your company."

The venom in my voice was laired with a suppressed groan. "You're a bloody liar."**  
**

Expression wounded, he shook his head from side to side. "Not true, Miri. You're very interesting. Intelligent. Gifted. Funny."

Manners abandoned, I snorted into my water glass at his subpar assessment. I forced myself not to down it all at once. The results would have been disastrous. "You're describing the wrong person."

Niket chuckled. "Well, not in the conventional way. You're not giggly and silly, or ditzy like most girls."

"Appalling behavior," I muttered, trying to drown out what wood paneled floors could not from the kitchen staff at the far end of the room. Their concoctions no longer bothered me as much as the clanging of their pots and utensils.

"Exactly." He pointed giddily. "You don't mean to be entertaining, but sometimes you are. In spite of your lacking sense of humor. Always so biting and dry, and you actually 'know' what you're talking about. Your ability to maintain a conversation of substance. You're a...unique friend."

Never in my life had anyone claimed me as their friend. What right did Niket have to bestow such a title upon me? I hardened my resolve. "I don't keep friends."

"Which is exactly why you need one," The maintenance boy countered.

"And you're supposed to be that one, special person?" I was positive we were fluent in the same native tongue. Even if we weren't, possession of such a faulty translator incapable of detecting the acidic flavor of my rhetorical question was unlikely.

Wryness faded entirely, he firmly wished to establish bona fides. "Sure. If no one else is in line, I'll be up front."

"Who put you up to it?" If anyone was involved, it was probably my father's game. Testing me and my interaction with others around my own age.

"No one." His answer was flat, lacking deflation, no signs of putting up a subconscious physical barrier. I was having a hard time believing such honest posture.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Well, I don't want pity- if that's what this is."

"It isn't."

"Then pray tell, what is it, Niket?"

I rubbed my temples in a desperate attempt to relieve compression, and was surprised when he reached over in an act of benevolence and squeezed the pressure points on either side of my nose. Even more surprising was that I allowed it. "I personally like you. Maybe you don't want a friend, or maybe you don't know how to be one." My glare was ignored. "You don't have to be one for me, but it'd be nice for you to have one, right?"**  
**

Silence was what met him. Not uncomfortable. Simply contemplative. When he released me, I grabbed for my water once again. What possessed my line of reasoning was foreign. "It's supposed to give me an acute sense of control."

He looked up and smiled, keenly interested as I answered his seemingly forgotten question. "How so?"

"Most human biotics aren't naturally able to pick up a sack of flour. I'm a...rare case. I've got EZNs like you wouldn't believe, and I was capable of pulling a small person twenty meters away. Of course, that was unusual even for me. My aura fired at random."

"And now?"

"Now, I've got a longer wait between nosebleeds."

Niket gave me the rest of the childhood that could still be squeezed out of me. After my lackadaisical agreement to his proposition, my competence to remain aloof in his presence was slightly deficient. Not to say that I was incapable of leveling him with a well placed glare or two, or all together pretending I was unfamiliar with him, but every once in awhile he managed to perform a great feat and extract a smile in passing. Of course, when we were alone I found his potential to do so even greater. He was gentle, even tempered, never lashed out at me for my 'limited' emotional capacity, never expected more from me, allowed me to purge my inner frustrations, introduced me to glimpses of normalcy. Niket became an escape.

I was surprised to learn years later my father had discovered our arcane amiability, even more so that I wasn't forced to beg to keep Niket as a friend while under his reign. During my early year, my father reigned over me with terror. And in my adolescence, I accrued a substantial reason to live in fear.

I discovered the horrifyingly grotesque fates of siblings I had never known. Those children- my sisters- Henry Lawson considered failures. If I was deemed deficient by my father, I would have succumbed to the same demise. The cycle would continue, and I would not allow that to happen.

Albeit, I never would have groveled to keep Niket. I had learned not to allow myself to become too attached to people regarding such circumstances. But, that time Father allowed me to become more acquainted with the boy that worked in his house than I had ever intended to. Undoubtably for a personal gain as a hook, or angle. Niket was something new to leverage against me, and Henry Lawson made sure of it.

But at the time that our friendship was blossoming, I never could find a way for him to be used against. I never saw it coming. Especially not after my escape.

_**{Call Between Dr. T Chang- Chief Bio-Genetic Researcher of Solheim Industries- and Henry Lawson, 09/13/2150}**_

Dr. Chang: Mr. Lawson, we've completed the ninth consecutive exposure of element zero to Subject Miranda. Fetus seems to be responding well. Eezo nodules are numerous

Henry Lawson: _Seems_ to be responding well? I want a guarantee, Chang. I'm not paying you to create another failure.

Dr. Chang: _(equipment shifting)_ Of course. This one is perfect. The children exposed to eezo in utero two years ago in Nepal have shown significant signs of positive effects. This subject already shows twice as many EZNs in her biometrics. In the high millions. Relatively half fall along her somatic nervous system.**  
**

Henry Lawson: And do you know what they'll do?

Dr. Chang: The full effect of element zero in humans is still unknown. The previously exposed children have been kept heavily under wraps, but most have shown potential to live longer and healthier lives- on top of other 'unique' reports. Continued exposure to Subject Miranda into early childhood should give a more definitive answer.

Henry Lawson: Very well. Make sure this subject survives. If she ends up like the others I'm cutting your salary in half.

_**{List of Exam Results for Miranda Lawson, 06/29/2158}**_

-Reading Level- 12th Grade Level

-Language Proficiency- English: Superior, Mandarin: Superior, Spanish: Superior, French: Superior, Russian: Advanced-Plus, Arabic: Intermediate-High, German: Intermediate, Portuguese: Advanced-Plus, Japanese: Intermediate, Standard Trade Language: Intermediate-High, Basic Asari Dialect: Intermediate-Low, Basic Turian Dialect: Novice-High

-Mathematic Proficiency- Sophomore Undergraduate Level

-Scientific Proficiency- Sophomore Undergraduate Level: Biology, Chemistry, 12th Grade Level: Physics, Technological Sciences, Other Natural Sciences

-Social Sciences- 12th Grade Proficiency: History, 11th Grade Proficiency: Communication, Freshman Undergraduate Level: Psychology _(needs improvement)_

-Understanding of Business Law- Freshman Undergraduate Level

-Understanding of Economic Principles- Sophomore Undergraduate Level

-Biotic Potential- Substantial _(will continue element zero exposure to further hone possible telekinetic abilities)_

-Firearm Accuracy- 93% _(must improve)_

-IQ- 168, Superior

_**{Message From Henry Lawson to Chief Executive of Cord-Hislop Aerospace 08/30/2161}**_

Four years ago, your Illusive Man's 'Cerberus Manifesto' caught my eye. Since then I have watched your progress as humanity's upsurgence into the galactic hand, and it has impressed me. I too believe in a pro-human agenda. These aliens should know our power. Advancing humanity is key to our triumph as a species. I have even taken it upon myself to engineer the next generation of humanity- a superior genetic dynasty for all of us. I believe your Illusive Man would be very interested in pursuing what Solheim Industries has to offer.

_**{Dr. Chang Report to Henry Lawson, 1/04/2165}**_

Reached peak limit of Subject Miranda's biotic capabilities without use of amp for new L2 prototype implant. Subject placed in Gladiator Arena with numerous mechs and droids as before. This time subject did not question or hesitate. Anticipated repercussions of resistance. Subject not allowed any cool down time. Was required to maintain barrier, and constantly demonstrate abilities of Warp, Pull, Throw, and Strike. Demonstrated exceptional use of physical mnemonics. Hour straight of perpetual biotic prowess before subject began epistaxis. Her instructor demanded that simulation be halted twenty minutes after subject began to bleed from the nostrils, and persisted further when subject began discharge from ear canals as well. She claimed that even during her commando training, asari are not so persistent as to make their children hemorrhage. The asari was dismissed from premises, and has hence been replaced. There was no possibility of severe damage in Subject Miranda. Vital signs, nervous system, and brain function were under constant surveillance. Subject performed slightly above expectations. Triumphed over first several waves of mech forces and disintegrated a LOKI. Fell unconscious when subject made attempt to perform the same technique against a heavy mech. Total runtime eclipsed at 1hr 54min. Subject Miranda has been revived of consciousness and reports no lingering side effects besides migraine and nausea. Subject is cleared to continue with other lessons as per usual.

_**{Transmission Between the Illusive Man and Henry Lawson, 11/13/2165}**_

Illusive Man: Henry, I wanted to thank you for yet another sizable contribution. Your donation has certainly not gone unnoticed. (Pause for drag on cigarette) With the influx of recruitment after our little incident with the SSV Geneva, we'll be able to fund more cells.

Henry Lawson: I'm happy to be of assistance. Solheim Industries is a proud sponsor of Cerberus.

Illusive Man: Yes, I am aware of your need to make your mark in history.

Henry Lawson: For the betterment of humanity.

Illusive Man:_ (another pause to inhale cigarette)_ Speaking of which, one of my reps became acquainted with Miranda today at your celebration. A fascinating girl. Very well versed in politics and business.

Henry Lawson: _(with resentment)_ I've paid for the best education and training money can buy.

Illusive Man: She shared her own reservations about the Terra Firma party leader, Inez Simmons. Told me that she understood the need for the party-protecting humanity's individualism and staking a place in the galaxy-but questioned its motives as a separatist group. She said that the party needed a new, more...inspiring leader to motivate humanity into rallying for a truer cause. It was an intriguing conversation.

Henry Lawson: Yes, Miranda has seemed to have recently developed a certain..perspective. Rather disappointing.

Illusive Man: I'm surprised you don't speak more highly of her. Your genetic alterations have made her physically and mentally superior to most humans in many ways.

Henry Lawson: Like I said, Miranda has gained a specific outlook. I've begun to find it intolerable.

Illusive Man: _(contemplatively)_ What do you plan to do about it?

Henry Lawson: I've begun a new project with the intent of replacing her.

Illusive Man: _(pause)_ Her biotic ability must have cost you millions alone, Henry.

Henry Lawson: Six-hundred and seventy-eight million. On top of the billions her genes and research cost me. She was the most expensive thing I've ever purchased. The next will be just as much.

Illusive Man: You'll throw away those possibilities and substitute her for an exact replica?

Henry Lawson: Better.

Illusive Man: I don't expect you to agree with me, Henry, but exploiting her potential would be much more beneficial for humanity.**  
**

Henry Lawson: No, it wouldn't.

**Liara's Addendum:**

I suppose I should start by saying that in spite of all of my personal misgivings regarding the Illusive Man, he was a terrific judge of character and had an amazing eye for potential. It was incredibly well utilized in spotting Miranda. However, I will follow up by saying that his decision to have Henry Lawson as a sponsor was a testament to his skewed sense of morality. Henry Lawosn was unbelievably cruel- as briefly evidenced by his treatment of his daughter more as property than a person, and his demand that Miranda become a trail for an L2 implant such as this had to be life-threatening. She was incredibly lucky the chip did not overstimulate her brain activity and electrocute her. I have known my share of L2 biotics and many posed a degree of health issues.- He made a point of proving love was inconsequential, and I fear that the Illusive Man eventually took advantage of that view imposed upon Miranda.

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for reading this chapter! Your support of my first chapter chapter was amazing! I hope you liked enjoyed this one. I know this chapter sort of felt like brief, embedded journalism, but the grand majority of this story will not be structured like this. It will be much more, condensed, interactive and interpersonal- like the ending scene with Niket. Especially the next chapter. *cough* Cerberus recruitment. I imagine that childhood is a remarkably touchy subject for Miranda, so she'd be likely to focus on a few defining moments that mostly hint at the horrible way her father treated her. There will be future chapters that will have something kindred to flashbacks of interactions with her father, her upbringing, and so on. Henry Lawson will definitely pop up in the future.

Again, thanks for reading. Please leave me your thoughts. Your opinions really inspire me, and any feedback is great. I love your support.

_02/24/2014- _I've made some serious provisions to the next four chapters- chapters 1-5- regarding Laira's role, and adjustments to grammar. Including this one.


	3. Beginnings Pt 2 Revolution

**Pt. 2 Revolution**

_**Log Recorded: May 08, 2186**_

_**15 Solar Days Pre Reaper Invasion of Earth (2 weeks)**_

No matter how I've learned to cope with them as necessary evils, I have never developed any great love for surprises.

Ever since my early childhood, I have strongly preferred to analyze any and every possible outcome to a sequence of events. I want to know where I'm going, how many accessible exits there are, who I'm dealing with, how I'm getting there, how I could leave, why I'll be in the position in the first place, and what's going to happen depending on actions A, B, or C. Forethought tends to give me the more desirable advantage.

Surprises, on the other hand, have constituted themselves to be something of a hazard. Usually, in my life, they've begun with phrases like; 'guess who decided to defect', 'guess which terrorist is actually carrying the antimatter', 'guess what type of monster lives on this planet', 'guess who paid billions of credits to create you', 'guess who's going to remind you every waking moment', 'guess who forgot to double check security monitors', or my personal favorite, 'guess who's trying to kill you today.'**  
**

Perhaps those weren't all surprise. Nonetheless, it's those types of awe inspiring phrases that can really melt a girl's heart, or inspire thoughts of running for your life.

So, imagine the supreme rush of affection I felt for my maker the day I learned he planned to dispose of his latest failure. The surprise was that he had more than one. I was number seven.

It was early June when I stumbled upon the the file never meant for my eyes.

**_{From the Desk of Dr. T Chang By Executive Order of Henry Lawson}_**

_Project Pilot: Start Date- 04/27/2141, Completed Embryo- 05/14/2141, Date of Termination- 11/30/2141_

_Project Eve: Start Date- 11/30/2141, Completed Embryo- 12/24/2141, Birthdate- 09/16/2142, Date of Termination- 09/28/2142_

_Project Eloise: Start Date- 09/29/2142, Completed Embryo- 10/30/2142, Birthdate- 07/23/2143, Date of Termination- 09/04/2143_

_Project Charlotte: Start Date- 09/04/2143, Completed Embryo- 10/02/2143, Birthdate- 06/25/2144, Date of Termination- 07/23/2146_

_Project Georgia: Start Date- 5/20/2144, Completed Embryo- 6/24/2144, Birthdate- 03/17/2145, Date of Termination- 11/30/2149_

_Project Sophie: Start Date- 11/01/2148, Completed Embryo- 11/20/2148, Birthdate- 08/30/2149, Date of Termination- 12/25/2150_

_Project Miranda: Start Date- 12/24/2149, Completed Embryo- 2/21/2150, Birthdate- 11/13/2150, Pending Authorized Termination- 12/01/2166 if Approved_

_'Pending Authorized Termination.'_

For what felt like hours, I was immobile. I remember my entire body going numb with immediate fear in my father's office. I had always despised the man. The extremities, impossible odds, and groundwork that he laid down for me made me resentful to begin with. But staring at the names of six lives- six elder sisters- he had created and wasted so frivolously, made the vile taste of revulsion creep up my throat.

Children. The one that lived longest, Georgia, had been four years of age when she had been murdered. And what of Sophie? Our times had coincided. Had she known me? Did any of them recognize the existence of their siblings? Georgia and Charlotte must have known each other, and Henry Lawson must have decided that gifting his prodigy a companion was degrading to her progress as a perfect heir. Conceivably, discarding one had been a test of emotional, or psychological endurance. Clearly, neither passed.

_'Pending Authorized Termination.'_

Nor had I.

I resolved myself to run.

Yet, it was the eighth entry I found severely disconcerting.

_Project Oriana: Start Date- 06/29/2165, Completed Embryo- 10/20/2165, Estimated Birthdate- 07/04/2166_

Oriana.

My genetic twin.

My replacement.

My responsibility. **  
**

My little sister was growing in the bowels of Henry Lawson's private labs, and when she was deemed ready, she would be poised as yet another archetype of a perfect human being. She would be forced to endure every disturbing detail of my own upbringing, combined with amendments where my father had failed with me- if she even lived as long as I had.

I would not allow that to happen.

I had options to consider:

First of all, bringing in the authorities was a very, very bad idea. My father had enough money to own Australia. Specifically, In 2166, Australia's National Wealth accrued to a total of 800 trillion credits. Henry Lawson's net worth was .001% of that wealth. Child Services and the Board of Genetic Research Engineering would absolutely turn the other cheek for a few extra credits.

Not that I trusted them to begin with.

No, it wouldn't simply be a matter of the two of us leaving. We would be pursued, and Oriana deserved a normal life. One filled with affection, parents that held her in the middle of the night to dispel the nightmares, where sometimes the biggest dilemma in her day would be deciding where to go to dinner. She could choose to make friends, what university to attend, to make her talents her own. Oriana would be happy, she would never be experimented on, she would grow up to define her own meaning in life. I had to ensure the safety of my father's investments, and simultaneously destroy any opportunity he had of creating another heir.

So, I ran up hypotheses on where to find that type of protection. A place we could remain inconspicuous and unobtainable to Henry Lawson.

I knew of only one.

So, for nearly five months, I led Henry Lawson on to believe I was oblivious to his plans. After all, Father needed as much time to plot my execution as I did to earn the attention and trust of Cerberus.

_**November 12, 2166 / Hunter's Hill, Greater Sydney Metropolitan Area, NSW, Australia, Earth, Sol, Local Cluster / 19 years, 6 months, 11 days Pre Reaper invasion of Earth**_

I went to see Niket the day I ran.

"Sixteen tomorrow. Legally old enough to vote. Thoughts on registering?" He smiled warmly, baiting me for a debate as I shooed away a clown with a menacing leer.

Such cheap entertainment.

My lips pursed thoughtfully on the matter at hand. A perfect distraction to savor what could be my final moments with my best friend. "Registering doesn't seem like an option. Far too traceable."

Amusement settled into his eyes, just as I had expected. Niket was always a fan of human involvement in politics, and had developed a deeply rooted adoration for the Systems Alliance- an opinion I didn't necessarily share. I could respect the value of their ambitions to become a vital adversary in galactic affairs, but they were too bogged down by bureaucracy to accomplish anything truly remarkable for humanity. Not to mention, their firewalls were designed for imbeciles, and their leadership was craven.

He pulled his hands out of his pockets and waved them at his sides good-naturedly before unscrewing a cap from a water bottle. "Indulge me, Miri. If you thought it best, what would you pick?"

He would not appreciate my answer.

Without missing a beat, I informed him, "Terra Firma."

A choking sound escaped his throat when his lungs rejected the liquid meant for his esophagus.

_Figures._

After bestowing him a discreet thump on the back, he gawked aloud, "You can't be serious!"

I didn't usually joke. Maybe I did let my guard down around Niket enough to actually poke fun with him, but I was hardly ever dishonest with him. He was, after all, the only person in existence that could illicit a genuine smile or laugh from me. Blatantly lying to him was usually needless. Of course, in the following moments my upcoming news would require me to be relatively omissive. "Why not?"

Niket stuttered, "They-they're terrible! Look, I care for turians about as much the next guy, but you can't possibly support extruding them and every other race from our affairs. That'll jam us into the batarians' position. We need their experience in this new galactic community. Trade and commerce have skyrocketed since they've become involved. They've been around centuries longer than we have, and we might learn something valuable. Besides, a hefty concentration of Terra Firma is centered around the ideals of dominating and burning them to ground zero. It's an outdated political backwash party retaliating over the First Contact War."

"To muse about my possibly being a xenophobe is borderline imbecilic, Niket." Good-naturedly, I rapped his cheek with my forefingers.

I prefer for such information to be as lucid as possible. I held no animosity towards aliens. In fact, I could even admire the resourcefulness the asari had instilled upon themselves when they first discovered the relay network, and the vast influence they still maintained over the Citadel races. My desires were merely for humanity to obtain the same status.

"And I mean that in the absolute best possible way."

"Which is precisely the reason your choice baffles me," He conceded wryly. "You've always struck me more as a Clay Federation type."

"Too small and unfunded to have any clout in parliament."

"So, you would choose disillusioned radicals instead?"

"Xenophobia is ludicrous. Learning their languages - even with translators and all their faulty rewording- and culture are vital for business and politics alike. Aliens are a part of this galaxy whether or not anyone likes it, dubbing that prehistoric philosophy impractical." I scoffed. "What I support is Terra Firma's ideals for maintaining humanity's individuality. Preservation of culture. Making our own mark. We need to show the other races our potential. How powerful we are. We aren't to be trifled with, Niket. The batarians alone have already harassed us enough, don't you think? And the Alliance does nothing except shuffle their feet. The newest concubine in the Council's harem. Too shy to speak up or defend themselves."**  
**

"..."

"...What?"

Under his soft, scrutinous stare I took note of just how hot my face had become. I hadn't raised my voice, no real emotion had slipped into my monologue apart from the acerbic twist of my features- and the sapphire aura wringing my wrists. It took me sometime to realize he was refraining himself from asking if I was really talking about humanity and our politics.

He shook his head and rapidly changed the subject. "How was your trip?"

Crumpling my nose, I flipped a switch, and donned mocking, haughty expression specifically for the maintenance boy escorting me down the boardwalk I wasn't supposed to be on. November's spring breeze blew in from the Tasman Sea and tussled my long hair, making me eternally grateful for the thermal wrap encircling my shoulders. "Esoteric."

"So elite on Beckenstein." Niket beamed broadly as he passed me fairy floss and a fresh bag of kettle corn he'd purchased from one of multiple vendors. **(5)** There were fewer people roaming across the planks on this blustery early evening than there were most days, but the crowd was enough to remain inconspicuous. Exactly what was necessary to avoid my father's prying eyes and tyrannical nature.

"Entrepreneurs follow money like breadcrumbs. Sponsors make them flock." Making haste on the treat, I led him towards the railing overlooking the rest of the bay. We leaned heavily against the barrier to watch the deceivingly small tide lap at the rocky break, refraining the more asthenic marine life in the area from escaping to far more dangerous open waters. Or, maybe it was to keep them trapped in shallow waters for aquatic birds of prey. Nature certainly had its way.

Mockery dripped through the notes of his tone as he shoved his hand into our plastic sack and extracted a large clump of nature's warm caramelized candy. "Damn them, trying to make a living."

An unremarkable noise of dissatisfaction escaped my throat, and I narrowly avoided biting down on a kernel-a rare slip of my impeccable manners. "You know what I mean. They're just investing and selling out to my father because his cartel is intergalactically poignant. That, and as he parades me around as a pretty, little siren; reciting budget analyses and extracting business secrets from any competitor with my _silver tongue_, he has the opportunity to extort and proposition. 'Join, or die!'"

Niket grunted in disgust. He maintained his own misgivings about my father's treatment of me. He'd been a personal witness as I was showcased, berated and humiliated for the most minor of blunders, treated more like a possession than a person. Other circumstances- drilled in intensive biotic combat for twelve hours straight as punishment for speaking out of term; forced to calculate and recite the precise amount of money, down to the hundred-thousandth decimal, the very fiber of my being cost to create and would continue to tax him each time I made the smallest of errors; and so on- were burdens I tried to make sure Niket did not undertake.

Instead, I usually erred on the side of carefully monitored considerations of patricide to appease myself.

"The first wave of colonists based their economy on novelty tourist items for the Citadel. Not the brightest choice. This group is smarter. They've made a name for themselves developing luxury goods and commercial infrastructure. Being so close to the Citadel, they've opened up quite the market. I admire that tenacity. With a little push, the economy could boom. To make that happens though, they needed help. My father took interest in a weapons dealer- Donovan Hock, a former affiliate of Kassa Fabrications. He's got an affinity for the unscrupulously powerful of the galaxy."

He made a concerned face. "Your father is stacking up on firepower?"

"When hasn't he?" I countered, helping myself to the unnatural pink fluff on a stick.

Between the two of us- myself requiring nearly twice as many calories a day than an adolescent male to simply maintain my weight- we'd practically demolished every last morsel. Normally, I adhered to the strict diet _recommend_ by one of many doctors and scientists that poked and prodded Henry Lawson's pet project. Consisting of- but not restricted to- exact calorie intake per meal, which fruits and vegetables I was allowed to eat, an entire elimination of sweets, etcetera. In fact, I had no idea what chocolate even tasted like until I was fifteen. One of many normalities Niket patiently introduced me to.

But I digress.

Guard forces at each of my father's estates and business complexes were well enough equipped and trained to face a small Alliance squad. After all, he had to protect his company's genetic research. Research deemed illegal- otherwise unethical- under all Council and Alliance space.

"Fair point," He nodded in understanding. Though not entirely aware of the extent of the illegalities Henry Lawson practiced- namely the amalgam of his own DNA he'd used to create myself and others like me- Niket was suspicious. My friend recognized the cruelties my father forced me to endure in public, so what he did behind closed doors was reasonably questionable.

"Mr. Hock deals heavily outside of Alliance jurisdiction." I was compelled to enlighten Niket. Perhaps making conversation would prolong the inevitable, but I was running on a tight schedule. I was more than ready to make my move.

Niket's eyebrows rose in interest. "And you know this how?"

"The usual way." I grinned wickedly.

Safeguards ran rampant through my father's networks, but he had been a fool to think he was capable of preventing an imprisoned, adolescent genius from discovering any and every detail of her history kept on and off file. Henry Lawson had tried to mold me into a savant of all trades, and espionage had become something of an entertaining pastime of mine. Bypassing cameras, decrypting locks into his bunkers, hacking terminals, and tapping into government frequencies were a few of my favorite activities, and keeping my tracks covered only added to the thrill.

But if my father had caught on earlier than he did, he probably would have planned to have had me anchored to the bottom of the harbor by cement much sooner than scheduled. Which is quite frankly, a common method of disposing a body for murderers that live in coastal areas, and one I was not about to put past my father.

Niket thought so too. His inevitable reminder carried silently on the wind. "You need to be careful."

"It's too late for that," I whispered lowly. The surprise and frustration in his eyes was never immediately vocalized. It was a rare day that he chose to disallow me an opportunity to explain myself. "I have to go, Niket. Tonight."

Understanding struck him fully, and his fist closed tightly around the virtually empty bag. Discussion of my imminent escape from my father's estate had been kept circumspect to elude suspicion, but had recently been subtly mentioned between us in passing. Running would take effort, and Niket had required a tad of forewarning.

A muscle at the base of his jaw twitched, either from worry or regret. "Where?"

"Terminus Systems, maybe," I curtailed easily without a second thought.

Disclosing such an obvious location for a fugitive deterred him from further pondering my whereabouts. Commonly asked was the question, 'where else in the galaxy could the wanted hide?' I was far more resourceful than deserting permanently to a land of outlaws, but the less Niket knew, the better. A hard warning stare should have prevented him from pressing the issue of my security, but-

"He's going to chase you across the galaxy!"

_There it is._

"I've procured a couple safeguards."

In fact, one said precaution patiently awaited my presence by the end of the boardwalk.

"Like the other week when you 'procured' barely hackable safeguards for Vahni's omni-tool?" He threw me an incredulous glare. "Now I can't scare away her boyfriends as easily."

I rolled my eyes. "Serves you right for trying to run her life."

"I'm her big brother. It's my job. You don't have a little sister. You wouldn't understand."

Oh, how mistaken he was.

"Then think outside the box if you want to get rid of those firewalls. A creative techy like yourself shouldn't have _too_ much trouble, decoding a few software algorithms. What was it you so suavely told Amber? 'Stand back, babe. There's no network this stud can't break.'" I teased joyously-for maybe the last time.

"Oh. Ha. Ha." His ears shaded scarlet as he tried to dismiss his wounded ego. He glanced suspiciously over his shoulder to be sure we were separated from eavesdroppers. We were. Others were too busy keeping up with children, were wrapped up in the person hanging on their arm, or debating between the ferris wheel and bumper cars- neither of which I'd been on that evening. I had been monitoring the local vicinity, albeit in a much less obvious way via omni-tool. "What's your plan of action, Miri?"

The slightest of frowns broke through the mask I slipped on so easily. Truthfully, there was still one minor detail I needed to amend before I could set out, but it wasn't safe to divulge. Not in public, and not to anyone. My two main goals in that conversation were to put Niket's mind at ease when he discovered me missing-to know not to look for me, and to make him take heed in case Father pursued him for information regarding my whereabouts. "I break out, make a mad dash, and catch a shuttle off Earth."

"Why not leave once we're done here?"

"I've got a few loose ends to tie up."

"Always vague," He breathed out dejectedly. No matter how sourly disappointed he was, my friend was wise enough to refrain from pleading for more details regarding my grand escapade- to know I'd be safe. Niket was never very skilled at masking his emotions. War between frustration and deep concern raged across his features as he reeled on me. Brown eyes bore holes into the side of my head instead of the gray horizon beyond. "Are you sure you'll be alright? I..."

"I can take care of myself." I answered quickly.

The paperweight I'd swiped from Hock's inventory suddenly felt heavy in the holster beneath my wrap. Father had never allowed me to carry a firearm outside of the weaponry in the shooting range, and I had never been dense enough to ask. My biotics were already lethal enough to withhold a decent fight, but the razer pistol I'd smuggled back to Earth unnoticed would ensure my odds of success.

"I know," He conceded. "We've talked about it-you running away. Just, you've grown up in this glass palace, and you've had whatever you could ever want placed at your discretion on a silver platter. Unlimited credits. Won't the adjustment be, uh, culture shock?"

"You don't think I know how I've been raised?" I snapped icily, wrenching my eyes off the sea and shooting daggers at Niket. "I'm reminded ritually every bloody day about what I've been given, and how I'm designed to repay it all tenfold. Like it's a chore to provide _shelter_ for _his_ ungrateful, unwilling, genetic mutt! It's a pendulum swung over my head the size of a goddamn anvil. Do you know what it's like to be reminded every time you make a breakthrough in studies designed for people twice your age, or every time you formulate a more profitable budget outlook for your father's entire empire, that it's not your doing? That it's because your genes were diligently chosen, bought, and paid for? Do you know what it's like to fall asleep calculating the price of every breath you're going to take throughout the night? Or how it feels to be terrorized over the mere idea of asking for a glass of water because your existence adds to the _bill_? How about wishing you could just pay it all back with credits instead of some absurd, unfeasible assignment? To know that your failures are the only things you can take responsibility for because you don't deserve recognition for anything else, or the things you've been given? Anything is better than being a prisoner to self-deprecation."

"..."

"..."

"I'm sorry." Niket finally collapsed the silence. "I didn't mean to-"

"No, it's alright." I sighed and leaned forwards on my elbows. "My life has never been mine. I was born in a decorative prison. Makes sense to see it as a swanky kingdom."

"I know he's never treated you kindly." He admitted softly, patting my shoulder.

"I don't care whether he's decent to me," I denied harshly. My own experience with the patriarch dominating my life was not number one on my list of concerns, but escaping for the sake of my sanity and vitals were certainly close seconds. "Leaving is the most practical solution."

"So, what do you need from me?"

I smiled half-heartedly. "Does Sanjay still work for that taxi service?"

"Yeah, they overlooked his last speeding ticket. Mom and Dad weren't happy, but the company just buried their heads in the sand."

"Hah, you're kidding! Incompetent oversight on their part, or the Department of Transportation's?"

"Both. I told him he was lucky."

"He is," I agreed. "Anyways, I need you to have a car tonight in case things get messy, and my father goes for you."

"Wait! How messy are we talking about here?"

I gave him a hard state.

"Uh, yeah. Okay. I can do that." He nodded and pressed a few buttons on his omni-tool, double checking Sanjay's schedule. "When would I possibly need it?"

"By my estimates- two hours, fifteen minutes, and seventeen seconds from now."

"Oddly specific," Niket inquired with a raised brow.

I shrugged. "I'm regimented."

"A blind man could see it," He agreed with added cheek. "You know? A normal person would have just said, a little bit after 9:30."

_2132_. I almost couldn't help my need to correct him, but then...

"Wait a minute! You're tallying every minute of this conversation."

"Down to the second." I had a very strict schedule to adhere to. Countless years and days of monitoring the rotations of Father, his staff, and most importantly-his security, had led me to deduce the patterns of their movements with a science. Their breaks, their duties, blind spots in their watch- all provided me with minimal, specific windows of opportunity for bypassing as much resistance as possible.

"How many do we have left?" There was what I had come to recognize as genuine curiosity in his eyes. No longer did I 'completely' doubt Niket at face value.

"One hundred and thirty-seven."

"Wow. Alright. What is that, about two minutes? Isn't all that counting distracting?"

"No." My brain had been constructed to process information at a much faster rate than an average genius. "Second nature."

"Hmm. Good to know." Contemplatively, Niket nodded. "Anything else?"

"There is actually."

What I would ask him next could have very easily cost Niket his life if my father ever discovered the part he would play in my escapade. After all, Henry Lawson had no trouble condemning those that chose to defy him- a record that disturbed me greatly. Perhaps, he did suspect Niket's involvement, and my friend's eventual fate was punishment for the both of us.

But, I can only speculate.

"Which is?"

Reflecting back on my actions, it's possible to make a conjecture that I more than seized advantage of Niket's generosity. At the time, I paid no conscious consideration to the idea, and I was unsure of the instinctive feelings that attempted to waver my overpowering logical direction. But, now in hindsight I can recognize the...emotion for what it was. Guilt weighted in my chest heavily, but I reasoned it away the same as any other.

"When you go into work tonight, head to Security Station B. There will be an 'unanticipated' malfunction in the power systems for a few minutes, and they'll ask you to repair the cameras. Set the vid feed to loop at precisely _2130_. Not a minute before or after. Can you handle that? If not, I'll do it."

Determination set across his features. "Of course I can. But, how do you know they'll ask for me specifically?"

I tossed our trash in the nearest recycling bin with a degree of smugness. "I've already taken the liberty of rewriting your supervisor's schedule. Everyone else will be occupied with their own dilemma in D-Wing before your shift even starts."

"Aren't you resourceful." He complimented, returning my smile. "So, am I only one that gets a goodbye in person?"

"I don't have other friends, Niket. I have contacts. Contacts are expendable when necessary." True friends were the only ones that deserved a farewell, and I only had one.

"Aw, Miri, I'm non-expendable," He gushed. An air of amusement had flooded his adenoidal tone. Aside from that he seemed truly flattered.

My blue eyes rolled dramatically. "Well, I'm not throwing you away just yet. You could still prove yourself useful to me."

He smiled, though he knew I was mostly sincere. I could release him if my needs demanded it, but I had no desire to. I wanted to walk away with one good thing from this life.

"I'm eternally grateful." Less humor this time, more seriousness. "We'll stay in touch, right?"

"I can't promise anything," I reluctantly told him. "But, I want to. If I achieve the desired outcome- and I always do- I will contact you within five solar days."

He grinned. "You're gonna make me worry that long?"

I scowled dryly. "You'll be fine, Niket. Nothing to concern yourself with when it comes to me."

"If you say so."

"I do say so, and I should go." **  
**

Lacking any predatory advances, he leaned close and placed a quick, chaste kiss on my forehead. Simply a familial gesture to let me know that I was important to him. Niket had never asked for more. He was safe, comfortable. "I hope you find what you're looking for, Miri."

I returned his gesture in kind by pecking his cheek, sparing him a final smile, and lurking away with defined purpose.

Several hundred feet out of Niket's line of sight, a male figure tailed my every step. A block away from the skycar he had taken me to the boardwalk in, my keeper sidled up to me. To keep fellow pedestrians at bay, we exchanged amiable smiles as he greeted me, "Is the air cleared, Miss Lawson?"

"I'd prefer not to discuss it, Commander." I kept my pace even and my eyes straight ahead.

"Fair enough." The dark-haired gentleman consented with a kind nod. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man in his late thirties with a considerate, disciplined disposition. In the two months I had known him, the commander had proven himself very reliable when it came to not crossing personal boundaries.

We remained in relative silence until we were seated inside the car. Along the way I picked up on odd conversations occurring between the bystanders on the boulevard, simply to put into practice what the commander had begun teaching me. Most were trivial: a break-up here, a discussion about midterm exams there. It was the man on the phone with his attorney regarding tax evasion that caught my interest. I sniggered silently, and my teacher caught my eye with a certain mirth.

"Here." He murmured once we were in the air, passing me a heavy pistol. "Put this in that holster of yours, and rearrange it a bit. Security shouldn't see it the way you have it now, but you never know."

My eyebrows shot up in surprise, and I revealed the Razer beneath my wrap. "I already have one."

He eyed me incredulously. "And how do you know it'll work? Better yet, have you ever fired one?"

I hadn't actually tested the brand new weapon. For all I knew, the manufacturers could have bungled the firing mechanism, or the chamber. In fact, most of my weapons experience consisted of firing classic 12-gauge shotguns for sport. The commander had been the first to show me how to use a pistol. They handled very differently.

My keeper made a good point, but I countered with, "How do you know that'll work?"

Another disbelieving stare. "It is an M-3 Predator. I had you use it last week. Cerberus loves giving these to their agents. Besides, I have been using that one since First Contact. It's saved my life more than once. I would not give you anything I wouldn't use myself."

The unloaded gun in my hands felt a little bit heavier all of a sudden. Was the story supposed to soften me up? Or, was it a legitimate gift from a mentor? I had yet to decide. But for the time being, it was best to appease the man Cerberus had placed me into the custody of. So, I did what any good student would do, obediently followed instructions, and accepted the peace offering. "Thank you."

The commander gave me lopsided smile as the skycar descended undetected into the wooded boondocks of my father's property. "I'll move up half a klick closer to the stables in case you require my assistance. Radio me if you need any back up."

"Acknowledged," I muttered, double checking my limited equipment in the backpack security had seen me depart for my walk with.

"Good luck, kid."

* * *

**A/N: **Hey, guys! Sorry for the little delay there in getting this chapter out. This was going to be much bigger, but I've split it into two, so I'll try to bust out the other one for you guys by the end of the week. And I'll reveal who Miranda's mentor is, and what went about with her pairing up with a Cerberus Operative. Thanks for all the faves, follows, and reviews! You guys are amazing!

Please leave a review with your thoughts!

_02/24/2014- _I've made some serious provisions to the next four chapters- chapters 1-5- regarding Laira's role, and adjustments to grammar. Including this one.


	4. Beginnings Pt 3 Responsibilities

**Pt. 3 Responsibilities**

_**2130 Hours, Wednesday, November 12, 2166 / Hunter's Hill, Greater Sydney Metropolitan Area, NSW, Australia, Earth, Sol, Local Cluster / 19 years, 6 months, 11 days Pre Reaper invasion of Earth**_

_Ten._

"Oriana and the OSD have been recovered." I chattered rapidly into my earpiece, sliding down the final marble staircase in the gardens and out of sight. The larger the distance between myself and the house, the better.

Getting inside had been simple. No one suspected I had ulterior motives when I returned from my evening '_walk_' around the outskirts of the forty-five acre property. In fact, the servants hardly ever paid me much mind, unless I specifically approached them- which I rarely ever did. And that made my journey into Father's private laboratories all the more uncomplicated.

Apart from the VI that monitored her health and the infrequent visits from her pediatrician and the other medical personnel that came to provide her daily needs, Oriana was once again alone in a sterile, powder blue room. The moment her slate gray eyes met my own- made lighter and more ominous by age and experience- she had smiled and cooed at me in recognition, clapping her hands and extending her soft little arms in the air in a demand that I hold her. It was never a desire I resisted, or bothered denying her. Since the first time I'd caught sight of her- growing steadily and on her way to infancy inside of a birthing tank- she had become my world and the one person I would do absolutely anything for.

My sister was a well-behaved baby. She had never cried during the irregular trips I had risked my neck to overtly come see her. Instead, she watched my every move with keen attentiveness, laughed at the trivial games and faces I made up for her, and craved my affection. She trusted me inexplicably. A factor that I seized advantage of when I administered a fast-acting dose of a harmless anesthetic. Both for her sake and my own. I wouldn't risk Father's staff hearing an infant cry- one they did not yet even know existed.

Escaping would prove challenging enough without any additional safety hazards. This was a mission that took over five months to brew any sort of faith in. For the first three I had researched all of my options. I had known almost immediately that Cerberus was the only organization in existence that could offer what I both needed and desired, but I had delayed approaching them directly for risk of exposure to my father- an avid supporter of theirs. I'd had to convince Cerberus I was an asset of higher value than he could ever be.

Apparently- much to my great pleasure- the Illusive Man thought as much. And he had gone as far as to give me until the last possible date to be absolutely comfortable enough with my keeper before he gave the order to move out.

"Excellent," Came my mentor's praise.

_Nine._

"Making my way to you now." I murmured, jogging towards his regular landing zone.

_Eight._

There was a brief pause, and I recognized the muted noise of a silenced pistol go off through the comm chatter. "Negative. Alarms are going to go off any minute. Security is pouring out of the compound. Head for the rear wall."

_Seven._ I mentally kept count through his instructions. Keeping distance with the allotted time left on the clock was crucial.

"Flores and Lentz are on standby for intercept. I'll draw the guards' attention to the stables. Once you've rendezvoused, loop around and meet with me there." He continued.

_Six._

I spared a glance at our package. Flores and Lentz were two variables I still had my doubts about. Simply because I had entrusted the security of my sister's future to Cerberus High Command did not mean I had absolute faith in all of their people. Specifically two I knew very little of from personal observation.

But, the Illusive Man had promised me their loyalty to my cause. He was the only individual that had proven himself trustworthy enough to rely on. They had not asked questions. The operatives had accepted their task of providing extra security.

Yet, sister's safety was at risk, and those factors meant nothing in the face of her possible future with my father.

Expressing my doubt, I asked, "But are they-"

"Do it." My keeper ordered sharply as I came close to a passing sentry, oblivious to my presence hidden amongst shrubbery.

_Five._

I bit my lip- forced to silence myself and extend confidence that I wasn't comfortable giving. I held my breath while I tracked her footsteps treading away from my location until I could safely make chase once more. She paused a few yards from my location, shuffled her feet on the red brick pathway to swivel at her watch, and slowly carried onwards. Seizing the opportunity of a blind spot, I silently rushed forwards, protecting Oriana's cheeks from being scratched by the limbs of the bush we maneuvered through to reach the clearing leading to the woods. I breathed quietly, "Yes, Commander."

If Flores and Lentz were anything but helpful to my mission, I would regard my mentor's and the Illusive Man's choice in assets as a betrayal, and I would do everything in my power to dispose of the two agents.

_Four._

I pumped my legs harder than I had ever forced myself to run as I made a beeline for the woods and undergrowth, steadily holding my impenetrable biotic barrier behind me with one hand. I had yet to fall into the line of sight of a sniper or watchman, but I was not going to risk the unpleasantries that came with the experience. I kept my breathing as silent as possible, as I dodged in and out of the nighttime shadows of the garden, through an open field, and into the underbrush.

_Three._

Furious demands echoed on the wind not thirty yards to my back, alarm bells clang from deep within the compound and all around, and the ferocious threat of being tracked down by Father's prize bloodhounds presented itself from where the guards had clustered. Howls and furious barks erupted from canines held steady at their trainer's sides.

_Two._

Unease slapped me across the face, and for the first time since I'd joined Cerberus, I was uncertain as to what would occur if I was incapable of bolting out the backdoor by myself with a snoozing infant in a sling around my front undetected, and absconding from the property. There would be no escape from these hounds' olfactory senses. Zigzagging through the trees, hiding, spraying the ground with pepper, doubling back, crossing through a stream- none of that would be effective. My best chance was to outrun them, and if push came to shove- utilize my two resources. Ducking behind the trunk of a eucalyptus tree on my left, I murmured into my radio. "Dogs."

"Can you-"

_One._

Boom!

The ground rumbled beneath the soles of my feet, heat erupted from the building I had just vanished from, and I stumbled a bit in surprise, jostling my still sound asleep sister. Her big eyes were closed, and little red lips were parted as she breathed steadily in slumber, resting peacefully in her sling. Out of instinctive concern I reached for her tiny wrist to feel a steadily drumming pulse, and sighed in relief.

"That was a little bigger than we agreed on," A hiss rang in my ear.

Judging the length of the shadows extending outwards from the mansion, the blast may very well have been.

Five minutes prior, I had been inside the lab that I was manufactured in- that my sisters were created in. On the same floor had been the rooms where I was routinely- forcefully, painfully- exposed to secondary bouts of element zero, where others like me had been executed. I had three objectives: rescue my sister from an egomaniacal madman and a life that would never belong to her, recover an OSD with all uncorrupted data on the details of my genetic tailoring and biotic capabilities for Cerberus to study the possibilities of human advancement, and upload a polymorphic scripting virus into my father's copies of the data located anywhere- low lying extranet channels, company cell blocks, encryptions, etcetera. No one else would ever be subjected to the treatment I had been, nor would anyone further be needlessly slaughtered through the ways Henry Lawson. I had completed my assignment with almost expert proficiency, but I had chosen to add a few details to the finale. To let the labs stand would have felt like a betrayal. So, I had set a low grade bomb beneath the floor panels for a precise and restrained explosion.

Maybe the mansion was much more flammable than I had anticipated.

A louder chorus of howls came from the clearly upset animals. Their ears must have been ringing. _I hope that will play to my benefit._

"Theatrics weren't my intention." I muttered dryly.

"I'm aware," My mentor answered. I thought I could hear a trace of amusement in his voice, but discerning emotions was terribly distracting from the new, aimless gunfire bursting behind me. "What happened to simply purging the data, and low grade explosives?"

"Insurance. The labs are gone now. It'll cost a fortune to rebuild." I answered darkly, panting as I attempted to outrun the guards that pursued me- as fast as most olympians could. For one of the first times in my life, I was thrilled to see father's gifts of physical superiority put to good use. "I'm carrying the only three copies of the data."

"This is your operation." He consented.

I smiled at the subtle hint of approval, but the expression quickly faded when a voice exploded over the loudspeakers.

"Miranda!" The screech was broadcast abruptly over all forty-five acres, bouncing off trees and swallowing the attention of any being with the ability to hear. My heart shot straight to a stop in a mixture of satisfaction and anxiety. I had specifically chosen a time for this extraction that would not coincide with Henry Lawson's presence on the property. Yet, he had arrived home early. He must have suspected my intentions. "Don't bother running. There's nowhere in this galaxy I won't find you!"

Foolishly in my surprise, I spared a glance behind me to be sure I was out of range of the guards that had fanned out twenty plus yards to my flank- firing stunners at anything that moved between the trees- and lost several seconds in my lead. I paused in my tracks- hiding in the bushes resting on the edge of a stream, listening for the sounds of clanking armor, muffled breath, the growl of a canine, a beep of a thermal scanner, or a readjustment of a firearm. I wasn't very far ahead. In fact, one thing was incredibly clear- I was being flanked, cornered like an animal.

The wall was merely another thirty yards away. On the other side was my extraction- or an onslaught of rival arms hired by my father. I could have sprinted to find out, but there would have been a lack of focus on my enemies, and I'd have been struck by a stray bullet. Security was far too close for sudden movement- even in the dark.

"Lentz, Flores: where are they?" I whispered lowly into my one-to-one radio, breathing out heavily and fishing for a response I sincerely hoped wasn't a mistake.

Gunfire chorused across the property an acre east.

"Hear that?" My mentor asked through a series of heavy breathing. I knew he was running.

"Yes."

"That's Flores in the field playing red herring."

"Where's Lentz?" I murmured frustratedly, freezing at the sound of a snapping twig far too close for my liking. He was supposed to be there.

"Looking for you."

_Looking for me?_ I nearly echoed in disbelief. Lentz had been instructed to stay on guard had he been needed.

Then, there in my hiding place amongst the bushes, came a nightmarish hiss. I felt all of the heat drain from my face and I blanched at the sight of the unintentional disturbance I had caused the red-bellied black snake. Startled awake, the serpent threateningly recoiled into a striking stance and bared its fangs to frighten me away.

_Fantastic._

A part of me knew the animal was merely feigning the aggressiveness- that it was terrified and only wanted me to back away from its lair. But my larger, surmounting prejudice against the venomous creature won over. Instinctively my arms drew protectively around my sister and a blue corona encircled my wrists as a beating of footsteps fell on the marsh not far from me. Instantly a sapphire ball of energy struck the unsuspecting serpent, tossing it several yards.

"Ah!" Someone began to squeal in surprise when the unexpected drop landed squarely on their shoulders- only to be abruptly silenced by two quick, muffled cracks of a pistol. The man and dog hit the ground with resounding thuds.

"Lawson?" A new voice called out, not bothering to maintain a low profile. Male. Young adult.

_Lentz._

My own pistol drawn at the ready, I stepped out from my cover, careful not to aim the barrel of my gun at him just yet. For all of three seconds, I glared daggers at him. He was tall and lanky with neatly trimmed dark hair and eyes. I noted the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead- glistening in streaks of moonlight- and the heaving of his chest beneath Cerberus black attire. If he was surprised to find an unconscious infant in a carrier around my middle, he only showed it for a split second. I growled suspiciously, "You took your time."

"Held up." He shook his head and sidled up beside me. Breaking into a canter, he pointed back to the wall I had been aiming to find refuge in. "That way's blocked by guards. Flores had to move the car to keep the fire off. She'll be in the field in exactly two minutes."

"So we'll be surrounded until then? Playing cat and mouse on the edge of the woods?"

"Basically." He muttered as we ducked into a new set of cover to scan the new sector we would encompass on the outskirts of the underbrush. I leveled my sights at a faint movement across the meadow, but pulled back when I realized there was a squad of soldiers fanned out one hundred yards to my left, scouting the clearing.

"Bogies. " Lentz grumbled. "Flores needs to get here soon."

"What happened to your comm?" I muttered disbelievingly. Constantly revising a withdrawal strategy was unsavory to say the least. The approaching pounding rhythm of Father's guards as Lentz and I darted perpendicular from our Plan B rendezvous point towards our tertiary only made the situation worse.

"Hacked. Flores' too."

Henry Lawson continued over the loudspeaker. "I will find you, Miranda! And when I do, you'll wish you'd never been born! Now, give her back!"

"He's charming. How'd a kid like you get mixed up in this?" Lentz whistled the same moment a barrage of bullets struck the tree I hid behind and my barrier. He had not been informed of my relationship with the man I had rescued the anonymous infant from- the one I was shielding with my life.

"Now's not the time to make conversation." I snapped, intermittently shifting Oriana into a safer arrangement and firing at the now charging security force. Thankfully, we had the advantage in our cloaked position. "They've seen us."

"Come out now, Miranda, and I'll order a ceasefire!" Father shouted once more. "If you oblige, I'll see to it no harm will come to you, or Oriana."

I found that promise entirely unlikely. More like I got shot in the head as soon as Ori and the OSD were back in his grasp.

"Don't even think about it," The commander's demand suddenly rang in my ear once more.

"I'm not stupid," I snarled indignantly, pulling the trigger and watching one of the silhouettes fall limply to the ground. That was the second time in my life I had ever killed a sentient being. Not that I felt particularly terrible about the incident in the first place.

"Nice shot," Lentz complemented over the rhythm of beating flames, strategic commands, and an approaching turbine. From his own hiding place, the lieutenant pointed outwards. "That should be Flores."

Casting a glance through the outlying flora, I watched the rectangular object Lentz had directed my attention to. Instead of hovering in one place, the car settled down smoothly on a patch of wild grass fifteen yards from the perimeter, and switched the engines off. The remaining four sentries did not fire at it once- which automatically raised my qualms. All of which were confirmed the moment the hatch opened and three spares burst from within forming a blockade around none other than my father.

"Or not," I sneered, heavily weighing the options of retreating versus remaining still. I desperately wished to know where Flores and my teacher were dallying.

"Dammit," Lentz growled so lowly under his breath that only a human with genetically altered auditory receptors- like myself- would be able to hear him. The lieutenant motioned a command to refrain from moving or causing any noise. I nodded in acknowledgement, glaring steadily.

"Miranda," Henry called out for me once more. This time in a soft voice that made my skin crawl, as though he was simply reprimanding a misbehaved toddler. His cold eyes could not pinpoint our location, but he knew that somewhere in the marsh, I lurked with his intended successor. I was nearly inclined to train my gifted pistol on his heart and pull the trigger, but that would have alerted the attention of his entourage. "You've caused quite a bit of trouble this evening. A shame to have this happen the night before your birthday party, dear. I was going to introduce your new sister to all of my friends. Now, the lawn is ruined, and I'll be required to force everyone to reschedule. Come out, come out, and we'll settle this like grown-ups."

Heat flooded my face in frustration before I could rationalize his manipulative behavior away and compartmentalize the resulting anger it inflicted me with. The lieutenant stared at me, but said nothing. Henry Lawson would have presented Oriana as his newest daughter during the sixteenth celebration of his first success and seventh failure- claiming she had lived with her surrogate mother for the first few months of her life. And not two weeks later, he would have feigned the cause of my disappearance as some horrible accident. Irritating me out of rational strategizing was his goal, and I would not give Henry Lawson the satisfaction. So, I breathed in slowly and exhaled the moment the commander decided to buzz in my ear once more.

He told me, "Flores is in the air. Your father's men are in my sights. I'm just north of you. Have Lentz draw their attention twelve yards south of your location. Stay put, and run to the car on my mark."

The seconds ticked by agonizingly slow- until the first crack of fire brought one of the thugs to his knees. Immediately, the squad responded, ushering my father into the safety of a protective human shield and returning shots. Flexing my mind and forearms I procured a sapphire corona around Oriana and myself, attempting to create a steady biotic barrier- on top of the kinetic one attached to my person. A second round from within the trees drew their attention, and when they realized they were surrounded, the guns for hire motioned to retreat into cover across from us.

"Don't you dare! Keep at it." I heard my father order from his sheltered position, causing a few of his employees to weigh the value of their lives against a hefty paycheck. Only when a second car with an open hatch lingered down with the engines running in between the perimeter and the ground they stood on did the thugs pause.

"Miranda, go. We'll cover you."

I didn't have to be told twice.

Flores sat in the driver's seat holding a gun in one hand and a wheel in the other. Dents, scrapes, and cracks from bullets had rendered the exterior in desperate need of body work. But the car flew, and that was all I needed.

I bolted, and the moment I breached the tree line I was almost immediately flanked by the broad and lanky forms of my mentor and Lieutenant Lentz. Several times, I pulled the trigger of the Predator as projectiles bounced off our slowly degenerating shields. We had nearly made it when they finally broke, and my mentor was forced to erect himself before me.

"Petrovsky?! Not another step or I'll have my men kill you all where you stand." Henry Lawson suddenly roared with contempt. He had brazenly asserted himself forward, a new confidence in his canter. Two of his guards flanked him, rifles at the ready. His steely eyes were crazed with hostility at the sight of the man at the end of his scope.

My father knew my mentor? The man standing between myself and a bullet?

My eyes grew wide with shock for just an instant before narrowing in suspicious hostility. I bristled with the idea that the Illusive Man and Oleg Petrvosky had been dishonest with me regarding their affiliations. I felt betrayed as Petrovsky signaled for us to pause in our race, and I shifted Oriana into the most protective stance possible.

"I know your face!" My father continued, jabbing his gun in our direction. "An Alliance poster child turned Cerberus. What do you think you're doing on my lawn? Surely the Illusive Man has nothing to do with this?"

Perhaps they didn't know each other after all.

"Don't shoot, Mr. Lawson. The Illusive Man will not take kindly to losing humanity's finest." Oleg Petrovsky reasoned evenly, tilting his head back in my direction, and providing me the sufficient opportunity to slink sideways to the car ever so slowly.

My father's face quickly rotated between shades of scarlet and violet. His aim strained steadily on my mentor's forehead, his eyes found mine. And in them was the exact loathing we shared for one another. "Cerberus has stolen my property! If the Illusive Man has any respect for our partnership he will return it to me immediately."

"My sister in not your property!" I snarled, feeling the kinetic energy of my shields begin to reboot.

"Your very genetic code was created by my hand!" He growled viciously. "You walk around as the embodiment of everything I paid for! _My_ research pulses through your veins, Miranda!...And you've destroyed every other copy."

"So, what are you going to do, Father?" I mocked. "Tear it out of me? Tear it out of Oriana?"

"Oriana is to be part of my dynasty. You..." His eyes grew colder. "You've proven that is no longer an option for yourself."

"Mr. Lawson, the Illusive has this entire compound surrounded," Petrovsky bluffed impressively, though I made a mental note to be cautious in the future about his ease with deliberately lying. "He sends his apologies for the condition of your estate, but Miranda is a vital asset to Cerberus and the advancement of humanity... And he has judged that you are no longer fit to care for her or her sister. Stand down, and do not attempt to pursue us."

My father audibly grumbled low in his throat, and pulled the hammer of his pistol back, readying himself for our execution. In the same instant there was shimmering crackle of purple light that swooped across Oriana and my body when my kinetic barrier reached optimal strength. Mustering every ounce of my telekinetic power, my sapphire corona surged across my arms and a blue ball of transparent dark energy struck him full in the clavicle. The wind knocked entirely from his lungs, Henry Lawson returned to Earth's surface the moment I lunged into the car.

"About time!" Flores laughed darkly, though I found nothing amusing regarding our predicament.

"Move!" Petrovsky bellowed.

"I'll find her, Miranda!" Father screeched one last threat before the skycar hatch closed and we were off.

No one followed us.

Once we had finally departed Earth en route for the Citadel, I spent my time personally caring for Oriana for what I knew to be the last time, hacking security cameras, monitoring fellow travelers and supposed civilians, and tapping outgoing communications to the human home world. Yet, there had been no sign of Father's bounty hunters. But, I was still left with a nagging, foreboding sensation that some time in the future, somewhere undisclosed, Henry Lawson would hunt for Oriana.

And I would be perpetually vigilant. She would never know me- or be a part of my new, dangerous life- but she would be cared for by two, loving parents I had dutifully- anonymously- selected from a list of top-tier adoption agencies that were unwittingly under Cerberus influence. Oriana's life would be normal, blissful, and her own- without my direct influence.

It was for the best.

_**1300 Hours, Saturday, November 15, 2166 / Presidium Commons, Citadel, Widow, Serpent Nebula / 19 years, 6 months, 8 days Pre Reaper invasion of Earth**_

"Congratulations, Miss Lawson. You've successfully completed your first special reconnaissance mission for Cerberus." Petrovsky whispered with faint traces of sympathy in his tone as we leaned against a railing in the Presidium side by side two days after my sixteenth birthday. I had only ever been to the Presidium twice before, and never to the wards. The Citadel was an uncharted experience with more races and cultures than I had ever seen in one place.

Directly below, Flores- posed as a social worker- introduced an eager young couple to their new daughter. The little girl smiled widely at them in the exact manner she had once for an estranged sibling. Tears of happiness brimmed in the woman's dark eyes, and she clutched the infant tightly, whispering greetings and issuing kisses. Her husband, although more reserved, reacted very similarly. They were going to be a genuine family.

"I had an obligation to Oriana. She was my responsibility to find a proper home for," I relented flatly, nodding in approval. "And now she has one."

Petrovsky stood silently for a moment. His dark eyes lingered, "Mr. and Mrs. Roshed were a good choice. Respectable, kind-"

"And normal," I added as I recalled the thorough background investigation I had procured on them.

Both native to Melbourne and descending from well-doing families, Rasheeda Walker and Baz Roshed had become college sweethearts in the late 2140's and were married soon after graduation. In 2157 they had been hired as freelance researchers in a joint effort between Baria Frontiers and ExoGeni Corporations to scout and chart potential systems to colonize. For awhile they had enjoyed the adventure of space travel, but had eventually taken up more stable careers at Baria Frontiers' in Nos Astra in hopes of raising a child of their own. But, when Rasheeda learned that she was incapable of bearing her own offspring, those dreams eventually shifted to adoption. For years they had been on multiple waiting lists, nearly closed a few, but had always been overlooked by the system. Oriana had become their best chance and last, and I knew they would care for her- treasure her and the opportunity she provided.

"They'll be an excellent match," Petrovsky added.

Below us, finishing up paperwork, Rasheeda passed Oriana to Baz. The man smiled dazzling at her as she sat in his lap. Her chubby hands reached up to touch his face, and she giggled, cooing. Discreetly, Baz glanced around the vicinity, and planted a kiss on the top of his daughter's head.

Wrenching my gaze away, I faced my mentor and gestured outwards. "So, what's next for me?"

Considerately, Petrovsky gave me a closed smile. "Next, _we_ follow Lentz to Illium and make sure he's settling in nicely in his new abode."

"Do you think he'll grow restless- keeping an eye on Oriana for the next few years?" I wondered aloud.

"He is military. He'll want to get on to a ship sooner or later," Oleg explained. "But, for now, he's happy serving as a _special security officer_. Besides, Illium is the gateway to the Terminus Systems. Cerberus command will keep him occupied."

"What about you?" I raised an imploring eyebrow, evacuating my weight from my elbows and drawing myself up to my full height. "You're military. Won't you want to get back onto a ship?"

"I find special assignments equally fulfilling. Training a new operative," He threw me a pointed expression. "...Will be rewarding in and of itself. I promise to provide you with all the tools and experience necessary before I unleash you onto the galaxy."

His jibe actually caused me to smile.

"You'll be able to make quite an impression on history, Miranda. Many people wish for that same gift, but you were born capable. I can see your drive and efficiency. And now you have the means to implement those talents." Petrovsky's tone became serious as though he were lecturing a child that had yet to understand their own strength. "But I want to make sure it's pointed in the proper direction. The Illusive Man and I will discuss when we believe it best for you to carry on without a mentor."

I scowled sharply. I longed to prove my worth to the Illusive Man- the man that had risked millions of credits in sponsorship to protect my sister and offer me an ample variety of opportunity. I would do anything to secure his trust and confidence. After all, he had more than earned mine. "And until then?"

"We wait for our next assignment." He answered.

"Any idea when that'll come?" I questioned. Eagerness pricked me in the shoulder. I was more than ready to begin my new life- intrigued, curious, enthralled, and even excited. This was what I wanted.

"Soon. For now, we begin our lessons in strategizing."

That peaked my interest. Of course, my imagination wandered to methods of infiltration, different routes of approaching different species, execution of combat tactics. So when I asked how we would get started, I was surprised to see his grin return.

"With a game of chess." Petrvosky told me, and led the way to a nearby retailer to purchase a set that he would keep for almost twenty years.

**Liara's Addendum:**

Throughout all of my dealings with Cerberus, I never once encountered Oleg Petrovsky. Even when the Illusive Man's forces swept down into Hagalaz to _recover _my former base of operations_. _And it was an even rarer occurrence for Miranda to mention her mentor. I can only assume her privacy on the matter was due to her first nature, and Shepard deeply honored her solitude of personal information when it came to such things- unless she explicitly implied otherwise, or it was for hers or her sister's safety. Even after their run in on Omega in 2186. As humans say, it would have been simpler to pull his teeth out. But, I did eventually procure some information on Petrovsky one way or another.

A corporal during the First Contact War- or the Relay 314 Incident as some Turians still refer to it- Oleg Petrovsky served humanity well and eventually found his views of promoting his species more in line with those of the Illusive Man than the Systems Alliance. He quickly obtained his employer's trust, and became one of his most formidable operatives. Petrovsky was undoubtably a proficient strategist, a keen scholar, and soldier that lived and fought with a deeply rooted code of honor. In fact, it came as no surprise to me to learn he was paired with young Miranda in her years of learning the ways of Cerberus. The Illusive Man was very effective in assigning the correct people with the proper psychological profile and backstory to execute certain projects- like the entire crew that served aboard the Normandy SR-2 during Commander Shepard's Collector mission. Petrovsky and Miranda shared a certain love of learning and outsmarting their opponent in the most efficient, effective, and creative ways possible. Strategy was their mantra.

As for Petrovsky, Lentz, and Flores- the three people Miranda entrusted with her sister's safety- I am looking forward to divulging their fates during the Reaper War.

* * *

**A/N: **Hello everyone! Thanks for reading! Sorry for the delay. I just started a new regimen with school this last week, and it was very stressful. XD But, it's past and hopefully things will be settling down.

Just so you know, I went back and edited a few dates on logs for clarification (I made up my mind.)

Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Please review! Your feedback really means a lot!


	5. Beginnings Pt 4 Prejudices

**Pt. 4 Prejudices**

_**1600 Hours, Sunday, March 8, 2167 / Omega Station, ****Sahrabarik**, Omega Nebula / 19 years, 2 months, 15 days Pre Reaper invasion of Earth_

For years I had practiced the art of gauging the values and codes others asserted themselves to live by. What lines people would, and could, and would not cross; and how to press those boundaries.

Father had made sure I perfected this form of observation- both unintentionally and purposefully.

Inadvertently, he had made me automatically suspicious of anyone's integrity. No matter how many supposed morals an individual possessed, I found the possibility that anyone was inherently _good_ extremely unlikely. There would always be the occasional scumbag willing to sell out their closest friend for the sake of their own skin, blatantly make inappropriate advances on someone too young to even legally obtain a driver's license, or murder their own flesh and blood. Simply put, I believed that for the right price or presented with the perfect opportunity; a sizable portion of the galaxy could be bought or cajoled into betraying principle. Some would even do it willingly- eagerly. **  
**

But, there were morals. Granted, most were aligned with and based on the sociological, cultural norms of the environment people were bred into and associated with as they grew. That key bit was something very important to be aware of when it came to dealing with dozens of alien species with hundreds of different cultures and customs. Sometimes, implementing them even kept me alive.

Alas, there were still many that defined their own system of rights and wrongs, and drew a very hefty line where those virtues were never to be breached.

I soon learned that Oleg Petrovsky was one of these people.

On one of our first assignments together, we had made a trip to Omega to track down an Alliance Science Officer that had turned traitor. Rumor had it, she was planning to sell more than humanity's secrets to none other the than the batarian hegemony. An advanced biochemist well versed in building bio weapons, had developed a knack for making people disappear over the past few weeks. And the evidence we had racked up across the Terminus Systems was more than implicating. When we finally did trace her last known destination, we were two steps ahead.

Apart from the duration of my temporary stay on Illium, I had never really been beyond the Attican Traverse- outside of Alliance or Council Space. While Illium had been a pearl of asari society with culture and class, Omega was grotesque. The grooves of my boots would stick to the unidentifiable substances spilled across the metal ground with every step I took, those that were too lazy to find a trash shoot had taken up to littering and forming piles of garbage in alleyways and on sidewalks, vagrants and drunkards were just as common outside of bars and dives as they were in residential areas, and the stenches- ignored by air control- were nauseating. All of the scenic marvels were enough to almost overlook the intriguing architectural feat of an entirely functional space station built into the side of an asteroid.

"_This_ is Omega?" I scoffed a few minutes after we had wandered through the docking bay. Merchants hustled new arrivals along the catwalks into buying what I assumed to be stolen goods, and I had to physically shove my way past a few. Some even sent out wide-eyed young children in hopes of manipulating newcomers with pity.

"Not what you were expecting?" Petrovsky asked curiously as he lurked steadily beside me.

"I expected pirates, vagabonds. But, this," I gestured distastefully at the flowing crowds. I had anticipated the Terminus Systems to be a region of space filled with outlaws and the lawless. That it was mostly a dangerous frontier where only the desperate or criminal ventured. "This is such a pisshole. Maybe I gave them a little too much credit thinking they'd live somewhere a bit more...respectable."

Amusement flickered behind Petrovsky's stoic hazel eyes. "You're not in Sydney anymore, kid."

"I think I realized that, thanks." I glared sharply, though he paid me no mind.

I detested the fact that he referred to me as a child. Granted, since the onslaught of puberty at the age of twelve, my physical growth rate had slowed tremendously to a permanent trudge. Father had created a living time capsule, a permanently youthful spectacle. A bloody statue. By my estimates, my body aged at relatively 0.528 times that of an average human being. Which meant that I would not even be thirty until the chronological age of forty-six standard Earth years. At the time of my Cerberus recruitment, I could have passed for a fourteen year old only if I was lucky. Thankfully, to those with the proper amount of entrepreneurial motivation, age meant little, and mentally and emotionally, I was well beyond my years.

Age meant something to Petrovsky, however. There were two types of people he would never allow any harm to come to: innocent civilians and children. It was part of his moral code. And, at times, I could visually observe the war- over whether I was a child to keep safe, or a lethal, vital asset to utilize- raging in his altogether serenely confident eyes. But, my mentor was a smart man. So, he would keep his opinions out of the way of Cerberus' goals, and do as the Illusive Man instructed. Which meant training me properly in espionage, tactics, combat, reconnaissance, and so on.

Not to say that it didn't give us our fair share of problems throughout the beginning of our partnership.

"Oleg Petrovsky," An asari greeted cooly- without turning to face us-in the middle of the seediest night club I thought I would ever see. The platform we stood on was heavily guarded, elevated above the rest of Afterlife as though whoever stood there was to be greatly admired, and the asari that prowled in front of the couch- with everyone beneath her- stood with her back to us. Like a queen in her throne room.

We approached Aria T'Loak on the matter at hand. I had been briefed on the de facto pirate queen before Oleg took me to see her. Relatively a century's worth of commando experience under her belt, she was reportedly ruthless, possessive, mistrustful, and a tireless opportunist. She had an entire station defense force under her iron fist, and she made a show of pointing out that she was not to be trifled with. Though Cerberus had no significant influence over Omega- in the short time the organization existed- we had developed a mutually beneficial relationship of turning the other cheek when it came to dealing with one another's operatives. Unless, of course, any of her dealings ever put humanity in harms way. Thankfully, it never really came to that.

"Aria," Oleg gave a courteous smile as a gruff batarian halted our ascent up the stairs and ran an omni-tool scan over us, examining for any extensive weaponry or wires.

I kept my face expressionless when it was my turn. _Paranoid. Everyone here is carrying a sidearm. But, understandable if you haven't got anyone you can trust completely._

"They're clean." The batarian informed his boss, and she rotated her head to Petrovsky with a malicious grin upon her violet features.

"How amusing to have you back on my station. What has Cerberus gotten its slippery little paws into this time that's made you stray so far from home?" The inflection of her voice was equally as condescendingly entertained as it was suspicious.

"We're on a hunting trip," Petrovsky volunteered with a polite smile.

"Why else would the Illusive Man unleash his tracking hounds?" Humor flickered in Aria's steely, calculating blue eyes. Nonchalantly, she made a one-eighty, folded her arms across her chest, and dismissed the nonessential staff in the booth- mainly the dancers. She still erected herself two steps above us, but I could tell that height was certainly not what caused so many to fear her. Overall, she was petite with a minute frame, unusual facial markings skirted across her cheeks and forehead- reminiscent of eyebrows. But, her shoulders were drawn back, her head held high, and a permanent glare had molded itself across her expression. Aria radiated arrogance. "Omega is as good a place to start as any, but you're going to have trouble if you don't narrow your search down to what- or _who_- specifically."

"We're not here to cause you any problems, Aria," Petrovsky reassured.

"I know that. Your master isn't going to send out his precious pets to break our deal so frivolously. That would be stupid. But," She tilted her head sideways in my direction ever so slightly. "It does seem a little dense to send out such a dainty, youthful breed to such a _dark, dangerous_ place."

"This is Miranda Lawson," Petrovsky's voice emitted a trace of pride, but I was extremely hesitant to believe it was genuine. In the long run, I was his designated assignment, not his dedicated protege. "She's one of our most intelligent and capable operatives."

"We'll see," She surmised. "Still, that doesn't explain why you're here, Oleg- wasting my valuable time."

Her callous method of mentioning the Illusive Man was definitely irritating, and I felt a spark of defensive loyalty. My boss was a good man, he was not a ruthless cult leader that heedlessly threw his employees into anything they couldn't handle. He truly cared about his people, and was willing to make sacrifices for us. We were not his minions, or slaves. We were given freewill, opportunity, and he trusted our judgement. The Illusive Man deserved better.

"There's an Alliance traitor that either already has made, or is going to make a stop on your station. The trail goes cold here. I figured you might be interested in exchanging some information on her."

"Omega is crawling with scabs and vermin from around the galaxy. Your race included. So, tell me why I should care about one of humanity's fuck ups?"

"You won't have to care. Not unless you let us clean up her mess, and get her off your station before it's too late."

Aria narrowed her eyes in contemplation. Obviously, she knew something, but resiliently groped for the information we had. "Too late to stop a slave trade?"

"Slavery isn't the half of it." I muttered, folding my arms across my chest.

For the first time, Aria turned her penetrating stare on me, and I matched it. Sizing me up, her voice was still amused. "It's not?"

"No, it isn't." I answered firmly.

"Interesting." Aria grasped her chin, and wandered back to the ledge to overlook the dance floor.

Petrovsky added, "Her name is Anya Nagano. If you have any information on her, that would be helpful."

"There's a docking slip booked in her name for the Blue Suns' until tomorrow morning. Bay J52. I'm not a fan of having my mercenaries operate out of my jurisdiction. So, I'll tell you what. Fix that problem for me, and you'll be free to remove your friend and whatever else she's brought here. Oddly enough, a hegemony merchant vessel is registered to come in at midnight, just a few slips down. I'm not inclined to believe that's a coincidence."

I figured Aria wasn't one to let anything get by her.

We spared her our thanks, and bid our farewells.

Before she dismissed us completely, however, she lounged back against her perch, and called out to me. "So, the Illusive is training- what are they called?- hell _puppies_ now? Did he have you chipped so he wouldn't lose you?"

Clearly, Aria was well read in human mythology. She certainly made a point of mocking it. Ultimately, I knew she was trying to gauge my reaction. To see if I had a short temper, or weak disposition.

I had neither. So, I pegged the Pirate Queen with a warped grin, and told her, "Just a tag and collar."

I saw the faintest hint of satisfaction in her dour expression.

Infiltrating Anya Nagano's ship proved a bit less extensive than Petrovsky and I had originally planned. At first consideration, we had thought to pilfer a pair of Blue Suns' uniforms, but when we realized the cargo bay was open from our hiding place- crates of red sand being moved to and fro- we managed to slip inside the cruiser undetected.

We headed straight for the science lab to discover precisely what she planned to exchange with the hegemony.

I've never really cared for discussing the parameters of this mission, or what I found screaming, tethered to tables, and thrashing like mangled animals aboard that nightmarish freighter. So, I'll keep it brief. **  
**

They had once been human- still technically were at the time- but the chemical agent Nagano had injected had horribly disfigured them. Covered in lesions and contusions, skin peeled from the muscles, most were leprous, some convulsed and foamed at the mouth, many lay still with glazed, silver eyes. A putrid stench arose from those that were already dead, and the ones that were still alive emitted choked, strangled gurgles.

It was terrible. For a whole ten seconds- until Petrovsky told me we had the data, and that it was time to go- I could do nothing but stare in horror. How could a human being actually use their talents to the detriment of their society? How could someone create a weapon so barbaric, and sell it to an enemy that would utilize it on our helpless colonies in the Skyllian Verge- as well as the proof?

It was because she lived by no code. Not even an unorthodox version. She would have started a war, and lived happily in a prison on Kar'Shan while the Alliance skirmished with the batarians across the galaxy. But, Cerberus had swooped in, and prevented all of that.

Instead, Nagano would answer for her crimes. Petrovsky, a Cerberus Black Ops squad, and I would intercept both frigates once they were free of the Omega Station, rid them of Aria's traitorous Blue Suns, and make them disappear. We would erase all history of any research facility, and the fifty people Nagano and her mercenaries had kidnapped. I would personally apprehend the wretch, and pass her to one of our loyal personnel inside Alliance Brass. And, after she had spilt every bit of information she could, I would discreetly condone the rumors that someone in High Command had ordered her execution with the very last dosage of her own agent. But, immediately afterwards I would vomit away the memories of what Anya Nagano had done to those people.

I had made sure to get as far away from any and every other person before I indulged my childish disgust. However, when I returned to Petrovsky's side- a bit paler than before- he had studied me with a degree of compassion and sympathy that I wished he never provided.

"It'll get easier." He promised softly.

"The chemical smells." I insisted. "Secondary exposure. I'm not used to them. I haven't had the pleasure of being sprayed too often."

He nodded silently, understanding my need to believe my sudden illness was due largely in part to all of the toxins floating in my lungs that we had just spent an hour decontaminating ourselves from. After a moment of contemplation, he added, "What you need to worry about, is when sights like these stop hurting altogether."

Though, I heavily considered that statement and carried everywhere, it was not a word of advice I heeded as carefully as I could have.

Not too many years later, I all but seemed to forget how to be bothered by the suffering of others. Perhaps that was why Petrovsky and I ended our partnership the way we did. Maybe, despite my numerous successes and triumphs for Cerberus, he considered me far too cold and ruthless to admit he had ever mentored me personally. I dismissed those inept or beneath me, focused solely on my mission, terminated those that were useless and stood in my way. Petrovsky had beseeched me to understand mercy, and for awhile, I threw it in his face. And on my nineteenth birthday, we permanently parted ways with irreconcilable differences.

Looking back on my history, I will admit I was a petulant child, tired of living underneath the authority of a man that pretended to be my father. I exceeded in my career, and desired freedom to implement my methods- the ones I argued were the best and only ways to be supremely effective. And I had taken out my frustrations on Petrovsky. I should not have done that. He had been a friend, and I had squandered that relationship just like the rest.

Pushing people away has been something of a talent of mine for awhile, I suppose. And though I'm really not one to dwell on sentiment, I will admit that if I were to see him again, I would apologize. Now that I've cut ties with Cerberus- now that the Reapers are on their way here- I doubt I'll get that chance.

I would admit to him that I did eventually start waking up to the repercussions of tenaciously callous behavior. Granted, it took about fifteen years, but I had begun to warm up to the idea long before my Collector escapade.

Maybe it had started with freeing slaves from Anhur in 2175 before the Rebellions. Creating a modern day Underground Railroad was rewarding to say the least. **  
**

Or, maybe, my knowledge of mercy was broadened at 0300 hours on Wednesday, August 27, 2177 when I was assigned to investigate the sudden absence of a pioneer team on a freshly scouted world on the outskirts of Alliance Space. When I realized I could not atone for the slaughter I had not succeeded in ending on Akuze that fateful evening.

**Liara's Addendum:**

To elaborate on the humanity's historical reference for cultures and species that are unaware, the Underground Railroad was a secret network of safe houses and agents established on Earth in North America in the mid-nineteenth century, centered around the cause of assisting slaves in reaching freedom. Though no actual railroad existed, terminology was often used in code. For instance, guides were referred to as 'conductors', safe houses as 'stations', fleeing slaves as 'cargo' or 'passengers, and each was given a 'ticket.'

Anhur's 'Underground Railway' functioned in a very similar systematic method. A few Cerberus agents, like Miranda, were quite successful in evacuating defenseless human slaves from the rising threat of the Na'hesit- a batarian faction keen on enforcing slavery. It is believed that relatively 100,000 were rescued, and that a great percentage sought assistance for the abolitionists when civil war did finally break out across the planet.

I should also say that though human aging is very different from that of an asari, I never knew Miranda to look any older than a young adult. She was physically timeless. And, in her early years as an espionage agent, such youthful, innocent features would have been very inviting and disarming to targets. A strategic advantage. However, I will address the fact that when I first met her- and in every professional environment I ever saw her in- all innocence was lost. Instead, it was replaced by the lethally cold features of wrathful angel. Depersonalizing horrors such as these made her duties easier to deal with in the immediate future.

* * *

**A/N: **Hey, guys! Thanks so much for all your favorites, follows, and reviews. They really mean a lot and are incredibly encouraging and insightful!

Please, leave a review! Let me know your thoughts, comments, questions, or concerns. :D

_02/24/2014- _I've made some serious provisions to the next four chapters- chapters 1-5- regarding Laira's role, and adjustments to grammar. Including this one.


	6. Lazarus Years Pt1 Calm Before the Storm

**The Lazarus Years**

**Pt. 1 Calm Before the Storm**

_**2345 Hours, Tuesday, January 07, 2183 / Cartagena Station, Cartagena System, Norma Cluster, Nemean Abyss / 3 years, 4 months, 16 days Pre Reaper invasion of Earth**_

"...With hopes to bring an end to the hostilities between the batarians and the rest of the civilized galaxy." The salarian representative concluded.

Immediately, the crowd was in uproar. Many stood, shaking their fists in indignation, several vocalized their deeply rooted opinions- especially the humans in the audience.

"Batarians can't be trusted!" One protested.

"Keep them off the Citadel!" Another agreed.

The vid screen froze and shrunk in the upper left corner to dilate the news anchor presenting this incredibly controversial piece. She kept her expression placid and as unbiased as possible, but when she spoke I found myself wondering if I was detecting considerable distaste laced through her words. Many humans held a keen sense animosity towards the hegemony, even anchors on the Alliance News Network.

Not surprising.

"This was the scene that unfolded earlier this morning, after the announcement of the upcoming visit of the batarian ambassador, Jath'Amon. The first official visit to the Citadel by a Batarian in more than a decade. However, the subsequent attack this evening by batarian terrorists on the human-owned cruise liner, Arcturian Jade- reportedly saved singlehandedly by a former Alliance marine- has left many wondering if a far greater strike can be expected from these terrorists. Despite the uproar of the citizens on the Citadel, little has been done to quell these suspicions. The Council refuses to postpone Jath'Amon's visit. They seem to believe that this proposed meeting is the best hope for peace between the estranged batarians and the Systems Alliance. The summit between the Batarian Hegemony and Citadel Council is still scheduled to take place ten days from today on Friday, January 17."

The vid screen froze. It was the same report that had been recycled for hours on end. The only new detail was the fact Arcturian Jade had been boarded by batarian terrorists, but were overthrown by the ship's small security force and an anonymous former Alliance marine. Of course, I already knew everything I needed to about him: Lieutenant Jacob Taylor, member of the 2nd Frontier Division formerly stationed on Eden Prime, a part of the 232 division attacked at the scientist's camp the month earlier during the geth insurgency of the once tranquil colony. The brigade had fared well in comparison to the 212- which only had one surviving member. His track record was spotless, and he'd proven a willingness to defend others. Regardless, Jacob Taylor had decided to take a sabbatical immediately after the remaining citizens evacuated. Either to process the losses of his unit, or the way the Alliance had downplayed the incident.

More importantly, he had served under Major Derek Izunami- an avid Cerberus liaison and former acquaintance.

I glanced back at my console to find a pair of cybernetic, illuminated blue eyes shift over a vid screen of his own that was not in my view. This evening he wore another of Giuli Vorn's 2300 thread count auburn suits, and a cigarette was held in a heavily bejeweled hand. His thick peppered hair was combed neatly back in its usual pompadour, and his voice was gravelly. "Did you receive all of that, Miranda?"

The Nemean Abyss wasn't exactly known for its consistently competent communication bouys.

"Yes, sir," I confirmed as I tried to keep the sleep from my voice. I had already rubbed it from my eyes by the time I'd dragged myself from my temporary bed, and wrapped a shawl around my shoulders to intercept the vid call. "These extremists are becoming audacious. They'll succeed in their attempt assassinate the ambassador without the Citadel taking any precautions- in spite of their failed usurp of the Jade."

"We just need the evidence to put a stop to it." The Illusive Man took a drag on his cigarette before placing it into an ashtray. "Recruit this Jacob Taylor to assist looking into your leads. I'm aware that you're more than capable of handling this mission, but he may prove useful."

_As cannon fodder in case I need to kick down a few doors?_ I kept that thought private, and instead reassured my boss. "I'll see what he knows about the batarians, and their plans for the Citadel. I'm sure he'll be willing to help look into it."

"Good," He gave a satisfied nod, and paused before disconnecting. "Oh, and, Miranda. One more thing. I thought you should know that the geth have hit Feros."

For a split second, my eyebrows shot up in surprise. "When?"

"Just before midnight yesterday."

I scratched at my collabone as I deduced the implications of what this meant for Cerbrus and the colony. Feros' true purpose had been well hidden, and we had paid ExoGeni superbly to keep it that way. But someone, somewhere in the chain of influence, must have let slip the identity and abilities of Species 37. I wondered aloud, "Why would the geth be after the Thorian? It only affects organic minds."

The Illusive Man pursed his lips. "Perhaps they were ordered to destroy it."

I frowned skeptically. My mind went to the only sapient known to supposedly be capable of commandeering synthetics. The man humanity's newest and only Spectre, Lieutenant Commander Shepard had sworn to be at the heart of the massacre on Eden Prime. "Saren?"

"Saren Arterius has always been fascinated by the possibilities of indoctrinating autonomy impairment," He told me, and for a moment I almost believed I caught disdain in his voice for the rogue turian. "But, he also has a short temper. If he was denied the opportunity to further his _research_, he may have decided to dispose of it. Or, to simply clean up after himself."

It was a rare day that I doubted the Illusive Man's judgement or knowledge of the world. I trusted him almost implicitly. For every sacrifice and measure of protection he had offered my sister, and for the opportunity and confidence he placed in me. Throughout the years, I had done everything in my power to repay him. And, the Illusive Man had made me his right hand, one of his top agents through which his greatest influence was shed. It was a role that gave me purpose.

Still, it was an even rarer day that I positively inferred he was speaking from personal experience. I understood him well. Probably more than most. I garnered his motivations, recognized his goals, inferred the reasoning behind his tactics. For awhile, I even came under the notion that I knew who he was. But whoever he had been before Cerberus- the one that had offered me salvation, before his manifestation into what he became during the Reaper War, the person that I later discovered had in fact worked alongside Saren Arterius many years earlier after the First Contact War- was no longer there at the end.

"The colonists on Feros are already under the control of the Thorian. It wouldn't do Saren any good to try enslaving a population under its influence. What could he possibly be looking for? He hates humans. He would much sooner kill them than turn them into his minions." I shook my head as I vocalized my deduction on the former Spectre's interest in the plant's mind control abilities. The colonists had been a safe, control group that had been well taken care of, and reportedly they still had a sphere of autonomy. Now, though they were in grave peril, and none knew how the Thorian would react to its thralls' endangerment. Or it's own.

"Don't be so quick to dismiss the idea that he may want to learn to control humans."

"I haven't. I just doubt that's his sole reason for being in Zhu's Hope."

"As do I." He agreed.

I paused for a moment, pondering a concern of mine I had not yet vocalized to the Illusive Man. "Sir, there is one thing I don't understand...Why would the geth obey Saren? He's an _organic_, driven by flesh and blood and emotion. Unshackled synthetic intelligence would never willingly follow him. It isn't computable. There must be...something else driving them."

"I do have a theory. Perhaps Saren and his geth actually serve the same master."

I frowned. "But, who- or _what_- would be influential enough to dissuade organics _and_ synthetics that haven't been heard from in almost three-hundred years?"

The Illusive Man shifted in his chair, and glanced at me for the first time during our conversation. "Miranda, how well versed are you on the fall of the Prothean Empire?"

I suppose it wasn't a surprising question. Saren had pursued a prothean beacon on Eden Prime. But, I was still uncertain as to where all of these correlations lined up. I folded my arms across my chest. "Enough to get by."

"When you have the time, read up on the para historical supposition on Reapers."

"Reapers?"

"It's incredibly unusual for such a grandiose galactic power to vanish so suddenly. I believe you'll be very intrigued by what you find, Miranda."

"I'll look into it. Do we have anyone looking into Feros?" I asked, changing the subject, though I had a feeling I already knew the answer.

"We intercepted an Alliance transmission early this morning. Commander Shepard and his team have been tasked with securing the colony, and investigating the geth presence. They should arrive within the next twenty-eight hours."

My head bobbed thoughtfully in the affirmative motion. If there was one thing Shepard was good at- as evidenced by the sparse interview following his Spectre induction circulating the media, his dossier on his service history, and the multitude of Cerberus bases he had recently eradicated- it was digging up details, helping the helpless, and fighting for a cause. "The colonists may not fare well until then, but he'll get the job done."

The Illusive Man raised an amused eyebrow. "You have faith in him, Miranda?"

"He's an Alliance poster child. Raised on space stations, humanity's _finest_ ways of thinking have been drilled into his core since early childhood. Shepard lives and breathes Alliance doctrine. He'd probably cut off his hand if they gave him the order." I said harshly. "But for now, yes. He's effective enough for me to come to the conclusion that he's far more intelligent than the average marine. There's no doubting his abilities...and humanity admires him."

Clearly, I hadn't been enamored with Commander Shepard like so many others- even several Cerberus members I had thought of as scholarly. This was a bias I'd formed of anyone that left authority unquestioned. Granted, it was not fair. And, at that point in history, my impression of Shepard was that of an unacquainted, unconvinced bystander. I would be in for quite the shock when we did finally make each other's acquaintance.

"They certainly do." The Illusive Man consented before wishing me luck, and sending me on my way.

I rubbed beneath my eyes again, and stifled a yawn. I had one final task to complete before hauling myself back beneath my covers to collect the few hours of sleep I could afford.

The voice on the other end of the secured, vocal line answered after only four rings. He cleared his throat groggily. "Major Derek Izunami speaking."

"Hello Major, this is Miranda Lawson."

"Miss Lawson! To what do I owe the pleasure...at this ungodly hour?" His chipper voice grew exasperated.

"I apologize for the intrusion. But, I've got information that there might be an attack on the Citadel, timed to coincide with Ambassador Jath'Amon's visit. You'll be interested in hearing out my request."

**Liara's Addendum:**

It would be many years before Miranda and I discovered the Illusive Man's former identity, and how he- along with David Anderson and Ernest Shepard- was one of three humans personally regarded as a dangerous enemy by Saren Arterius.

In fact, the Illusive Man and Miranda were correct in their belief that the geth would never follow Saren out of their own freewill. And it was on Feros that Shepard, myself, and the rest of our team fully understood why.

**_1600 Hours, Friday, January 10, 2183 / Fringe Bar, Cartagena Station, Cartagena System, Norma Cluster, Nemean Abyss / 3 years, 4 months, 13 days Pre Reaper invasion of Earth_**

Throughout all of my nineteen years, two months, and ten days with Cerberus; I travelled the galaxy many times over, obtained a dexterity for a multitude of professions and skills, became acquainted with a menagerie of individuals, and in the beginning- I wore a plethora of masks.

There was Johanna Ericsson, an heiress. Daughter to an influential businessman that had broken from her father's influence to start a career and earn her own keep of the luxury sports car and penthouse flat on Illium as she tired away as Inez Simmons personal assistant. A hard-worker with management skills and a trustworthy disposition, Ericsson was the last person Miss Simmons expected to peer too closely into her expenses and uncover the kickback scandal that gave leeway to her removal from her position as political party leader for Terra Firma.

There was Mia Walker, a pharmaceutical tech that had been hired by the public face of New Dawn Pharmaceuticals. Good with numbers and chemistry, Walker had been assigned by one branch to concoct substances that were not aligned with neither the public's, nor Cerberus' needs, in exchange for under the table payments. They hadn't expected her to be unappreciative of laundered income and report her findings to the Illusive Man.

There had been Alena Becker- Eclipse initiate.

Mira Vaughn. Andi Dawson. Both analogues.

But, much of the time- especially after I'd created such an intricate web of contacts that made providing an alias needless- I was Miranda Lawson. It was simpler- in areas I was known- to not go by an identity thought up at the drop of a hat. And even in the outlaw-filled Nemean Abyss, I was recognizable by a few as the focused, severe Cerberus operative.

Of course, that day on Cartagena Station, there was only one person I anticipated to identify me in any capacity. Jacob Taylor had never seen my face, yet I had seen his on more than one occasion over the past few days. Apart from hiring a corsair, there was no need to show my face. By all accounts, Cartagena's crime ratio had been fairly low recently. At least, as far as the hostile takeovers went.

Which only meant the station's luck was running out.

I had arrived at The Fringe ten minutes before our designated meet time. I slyly slunk into a barstool in the corner of the bottom floor, ordered a glass of an asari wine, and turned my attention to the datapad in the palm of my hand to appear occupied and dissuade others from approaching me. There were no further updates in the news regarding Jath'Amon's visit to the Citadel, but the media had publicized geth sightings on Feros. Withheld were the reports of an actual attack, however.

I sipped steadily on the glass of the fermented, alien variation. The sweetness that washed over my tongue was akin to a plum, coupled with the faint dryness that was present in all alcoholic beverages. I was thankful there were no traces of apple. Generally speaking, asari had taken quite a liking to human fruits, and had engineered their own versions. Most popular on their list were Golden Thessian apples.

I hummed to myself in disappointment over the lack of intriguing articles currently circulating the extranet when a large, armored hand settled on the counter just to my right. My eyes flickered upwards to peer out beneath loose strands of onyx hair to find a large, grizzly fellow looming over the counter.

"Pardon my reach, lass," He apologized as he grasped for the drinks the bartender had prepared.

"Not a problem." I reassured him passively as I made a point of glancing upwards to inspect the intruder. The moment I caught sight of the cybernetic replacement swirling in his right eye socket, I knew exactly who he was. His face had been plastered on warrants all across the station.

Clint 'Black-Eye' Darragh flashed a bright smile at me before turning on his heel, and heading up the stairs to the second floor where the rest of his motley crew awaited his return.

The fact that a notorious pirate band had infiltrated the station did not perturb me. I'd dealt with far worse than a ragtag group of criminals in the Nemean Abyss. However, I found their sudden innocuous appearance irrevocably annoying. If the pirates found themselves in a squabble with C-Pat- the station's police force- the Fringe would either be taken hostage, or evacuated. I would have to lurk elsewhere in search of Jacob Taylor, and I did not wish to waste my time because of an inconsequential power struggle.

_At least they haven't started anything_.

Coincidentally in the sane moment, gunfire erupted from just outside the bar. I rolled my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose as I anticipated the following string of events. A shot rang up in the air to absorb the attention of fellow patrons. A few screams of surprise bounced off the walls and pillars, but ultimately, most of the expressions on the sea of faces from every species- apart from the traces of fear- were those of acceptance and boredom. Like the citizens of Cartagena had expected to find themselves at the heart of raid any day now. The music died, and a wave of silence overcame the crowd. Out of the corner of my eye, I could the bartender subtly reach beneath the counter to press an emergency call button.

"No one leaves!" Darragh shouted to the patrons on his second-story level. "This is a holdup. Any of ya' try anything funny, you'll be put down. Understand?"

As the old pirate's crew encircled the group of customers on the top floor, many of the people on the bottom floor took their cue to scurry away before the situation could worsen. Others- either brave, stupid, or with a job to do- like myself, remained seated and chattering, otherwise ignoring the hostage situation upstairs as a jazzy tune returned to the loud speakers. Tensions were still high with the random intervals of gunfire slowly approaching, but after fifteen minutes, both patrons and pirates seemed to find a rhythm of minding their own business.

When The Fringe's doors were finally flung open to the rat-a-tat of artillery and clanking heavy boots, many like myself had expected C-Pat. Instead, we intercepted a sole figure in unmarked armor. An assault rifle was held firmly in his grasp, and a faint blue glow around his shoulders indicated that his biotics were cooling down. With a clean-shaven head and aggressive stance, it was clear that this day was not his first in combat. He threw a steady glare at the pirate stepping up to the top of the stairs as he careened to halt, weighing his options. Anticipating potential trouble for him, I clenched my fist, prepared to unleash my biotics if fate should have it.

_Ah, well, there's my contact._

"Come no closer, young man, or I'll fill you full of holes." Black-Eye threatened. He leveled the barrel of his gun at the newcomer. From the balcony beside his loyal men remained fixed on their vigilance around the hostages.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Jacob struggled to keep the irritation out of his voice.

"The name's Black-Eye. 'Black-Eye' Darragh," He claimed proudly. "You may have heard of me."

Jacob gestured to the captives behind him. "Why hold these people hostage?"

"Because they were here when the patrol officers outside started shooting," Darragh answered honestly. "Why else?"

Jacob quirked an eyebrow. "Don't you have demands?"

_I really don't have time for this._

"Demands? You think I'm stupid enough to invade Cartagena Station, then issue demands? We're not here to make demands. Just to get a cold drink and a bit of a breather."

"You didn't come here to just have drinks." Taylor decided after giving Darragh a thorough once over.

A mixture of surprise and confusion etched its way across the old pirate's face. "I didn't? And why is that?"

"Cartagena's too well defended. You knew you'd be caught if you came here."

Darragh laughed. "Hah! So what, I wanted to be caught? That what you're sayin'?"

The marine shrugged. "That's what I'm saying."

Grumbling under his breath, Clint Durragh flicked his fingers downwards in a signal for his men to lower their weapons. "Aw, damnit. I think you're right. I'm just so bloody tired. I'm getting too old for this shit."

"Turn yourself in, Darragh," Jacob insisted as C-Pat officers stormed through the door.

"I swear, I hate you Alliance crewcuts. You throw everything off balance." He swore before reeling on the police. "Alright. Take me into custody, you C-Pat wing nuts! This is the day you threw Black-Eye Darragh in jail!"

Two C-Pat officers clawed for Darragh's arms, and placed him in omni-shackles. Steaming angry, Darragh was dragged away like animal as Jacob Taylor stood watch. One of the officers shook his hand in gratitude before he turned to survey the room, searching for his contact.

I will admit, I was impressed and slightly sympathetic for the man hauled away to end a life of crime. _I suppose we all get what we deserve._

When Jacob finally caught my eyes steadily upon him, I took a sip of wine and explained, "I thought you'd be taller."

* * *

**A/N: **Hello, guys! Sorry for the slight delay with this one. I'll bust out the next by the end of this week hopefully! Thanks so much for you follows, favorites, and reviews! They mean a lot, and they're very encouraging. So, please keep 'em coming.

Update: _02/24/2014- _I've made some serious provisions to the next four chapters- chapters 1-5- regarding Laira's role, and adjustments to grammar.


	7. Lazarus Years Pt2 Degrees of Trust

**Pt. 2 Degrees of Trust**

_**1120 Hours, Tuesday, January 14, 2183 / En Route to Tortuga, Hispaniola System, Santa Maria Cluster, Nemean Abyss / 3 years, 4 months, 9 days Pre Reaper invasion of Earth**_

"Have you got anything new for us, Batha?" Was my immediate question upon entry to the med deck on the small corvette Cerberus had deployed to fly myself, and my assets wherever we needed to go.

"Rrgh," Came the guttural growl of a daunting, ever-vigilant krogan in the corner of the compartment. His orange eyes narrowed threateningly beneath his grizzled head plate at the sight of me approaching his lifelong asari companion.

Despite the fact that not two days before, Jacob and I had saved their lives by offering extraction and refuge from what had become an experimental batarian prison, the krogan mercenary had proven slow to trust- not that I blamed him. However, his personal investment in his role as the asari doctor's guard- on top of the budding stereotypes of his species' behavior- made me weary of the probability that he could prove to be a liability to our mission. Batha was the sole individual capable of settling his outwardly aggressive nature. Thankfully, she seemed to have faith in her rescuers.

"Hush, Nax," She cooed with a smile that put the krogan at perfect ease.

Jacob Taylor had merely been the first of several recruits I had picked up for this particular mission.

We had run into Doctor Batha and her irritable friend Nax in the middle of his own rescue attempt on Ahn'Kedar Orbital Platform. Ahn'Kedar had been the first of three leads I had chosen to investigate.

Several doctors and scientists had gone missing from stations near the Batarian Fringe. I couldn't imagine it was a mere coincidence, and my instincts had yet again been proven correct upon arrival.

Batarians in the Outer Rim had supposedly fallen tragically ill to a new, unknown super bug. Entire populations had been exterminated. Only communicable in high concentrations, it could incubate quickly and thus far had a 100% mortality rate. In an effort to devise a cure for what could only be a biological weapon, they had kidnapped a multitude of brilliant minds to devise a cure. And many, like Batha, had chosen to stay in an act of good conscience. Their efforts were not entirely in vain.

"The prototype cure has nearly been synthesized," She explained, flicking through her notes. Her soft, sea foam tinged features were drawn, and purplish circles lined the rims of her eyes. The news that the batarians in favor of separatism would likely use the blood plague to assassinate Jath'Amon and his entourage had made her anxious to draw a conclusion. "But, I'll need a large store of element zero to complete it. There weren't any leftover caches at the lab on Ahn'Kedar, and your mass effect drive doesn't exactly have any to spare. We'll need to find some soon."

"What do we need element zero for?"

I turned to see Jacob trudging down the stairs into the med bay with a cup of coffee in his hands. Wiggling his way around equipment, he placed it before Batha who gave him a gracious smile. Which, I found surprising considering I had never encountered an asari with a preference for coffee over tea. She must have been running on empty.

"Element zero is at the heart of many advances in medicines. In this case, it has a mutagenic effect that Miranda and I think-" She shook her head to dispel the urge of delving too deep into the more scientifically complex hypothesis we had mulled over for nearly two hours yesterday. "Well, it's not important right now. My work will cure this blood plague, though. That's what matters."

"I've got a lead on Bekke," I informed my accomplices, placing a hand under my chin. All of my leads had been in the Nemean Abyss. It turned out the batarians were busy out there: gunrunning, drugs, terrorizing human colonies...the works. "The batarians have been gathering forces there. All to protect something. Maybe it's eezo?"

"Sounds right," Nax grunted.

Intrigued by his voluntary agreement, I raised an imploring brow. "Oh?"

He shrugged gruffly, "Knew a couple batarian mercs that got hired by some businessmen from Bekke a couple months ago. Never said what they paying them to guard exactly. Only that it was big, and secret, and had something to do with one of the new mines. Batarians are all tight-lipped. Think that they're the first, and only ones to get their hands on something."

"Could be worth a look," Taylor nodded.

"As soon as we've taken a look at this arms dealer, we'll head straight there." I decided.

"Sounds like a plan," Jacob nodded, lending me a smile I did not return.

Instead, I glanced at Nax suspiciously. Leaving a krogan mercenary aboard a company ship without proper supervision did not sit well with me. Why should I abandon him long enough to be marooned planet side? Although I doubted Batha would allow it, Nax was highly protective of her and much larger. The giant reptile could certainly subdue his partner, and make a run from the people that were offering to pay him. If I were to force him to accompany us, he would accuse me of purposefully leaving Batha in harms way, alone and with only the five-person crew to keep an eye on the ship's safety.

Neither was preferable. So, I gave him a job to put his skills to use. "Mr. Taylor and I will head ashore once we reach Tortuga. We should only be gone a few hours. Nax, I want you to stationed as security while we're gone. Keep pirates away from Batha and the ship. We'll keep in radio contact."

"I wasn't gonna go anywhere anyways," He grunted.

Drawing my lips into a thin line, I nodded in approval, turned on my heel, and excused myself. The gangways of the corvette were cramped and the bulkheads provided narrow pathways that echoed the tiniest of movements. I didn't have to turn around to know I was being tailed on my way to the cockpit to check our status and alert the pilot of the krogan she would need to babysit. Jacob's footsteps were heavy and thunderous. The typical sign of a marine without expertise in stealth operations, unacquainted with the need for discretion.

As I passed the minute kitchenette and captain's cabin, Jacob finally caught up with me. "Lawson, wait up!"

My pace slowed, but I made no effort to pause and wait for his dallying pace. He fell in perfect step just behind me, and cleared his throat as though making an attempt to start a conversation. "About Nax."

I stiffened. "What about him?"

"I think you can trust him to do what he says."

Stealing a quick breath, I let the terseness slip from my features. Flashing him a quick smile over me shoulder, I asked, "What makes you think I don't trust him?"

"You said he could complicate things for us," He reminded me as though I'd forgotten our first meeting with the krogan.

"Sure. Back on Ahn'Kedar when we were in the middle of a gunfight," I said with amused, innocent eyes. "Now, we're on Tortuga. He'll be useful. I like to think up any possibility."

Jacob nodded solemnly. "Well, I trust you. So whatever you say goes, Miranda."

Overall, he had taken my direction superbly. His faith in me had been quickly won, and with surprising ease. One of his first questions for me had been whether or not I was a spy. But once I'd given a noncommittal reassurance that he could ask questions _after_ the batarians were dealt with, he had become much simpler to manage as he put his duty first. However, despite the aura of the quiet, unquestioning, perfect soldier-boy swarming around his armored body; I was slightly inclined to believe he initially trusted me so quickly because of the fact that I was a pair of big, blue eyes with a passion for doing the right thing.

My employer was still a mystery to him. The Alliance had recently bastardized a few of our black ops cells for performing illegal experiments in Council space, and labeled our entire organization terrorists. The Illusive Man and I had agreed it best to let Mr. Taylor understand our ambitions before the media's bias could affect his opinion.

When I granted him a warm grin, he rubbed the back of his neck. "So, Tortuga? What can you tell me about it?"

"Never had the pleasure?"

_**1000 Hours, ****Saturday, July 4, 2167** / Cerberus Experimental Training Facility "The Farm", Nos Astra, Illium, Tasale System, Crescent Nebula, Terminus Systems / 18 years, 10 months, 19 days Pre Reaper Invasion of Earth_

The Farm.

Nicknamed for it's ability to discharge a very specific breed of operative, and inarguably the most impressive underground facility I would ever see, none but Cerberus' best that resided on the upper border of Council Space were sent to train for their careers. There were no more than ten future agents under careful tutelage at any given time. Each student's course was individualized, personalized, confidential, and dictated by our personal mentor. We knew each other's names and faces, and were only brought together for certain activities: charm school, scholastic classes, physical fitness, and downtime.

My aptitude in death-defying car chases- where I terrified Petrovsky on more than one occasion- interrogations, withstanding torture techniques, sparring, infiltration, observations, and strategy were all honed by my teacher's diligence, patience, and good faith. And as seriously as we both took our assignments, Petrovsky was always able to put me at ease after a day of rigorous mock torture trials, lift my spirits when I was hard on myself for imperfect marks in my courses, or make me laugh when I took things too seriously. Even when I had yet to realize I was in desperate need of appraisal.

"You're overthinking it, Miranda," My guardian whispered kindly, snagging the datapad I'd had my eyes glued to all morning out from under me and replacing it with a steaming mug of tea. He smirked when he realized I was still glowering from the barstool in the upmost floor's breakroom. "Unshackle yourself, and take a break."

"Thanks," I grumbled begrudgingly as I worked through hacking the final node on the omni-cuffs. Four seconds later they sizzled out of existence, and I rubbed my sore wrists.

Petrovsky took hold of my sleeveless forearm and tsked. "I didn't think it was possible with the omni-cuffs, but your multitasking is going to rub your skin raw."

I grinned cheekily as I accepted the medi-gel ointment he'd offered. "At least I've stopped breaking my thumbs."

He cringed, clearly recalling the distinct popping noise a small bone in my hand had made the fourth time I had attempted to remove a pair of metal handcuffs. As unorthodox as my method had been, it had worked, and I was still functional. Oleg tapped my nose in good humor, "You, my dear, have the pain tolerance of a krogan."

"And the redundant nervous system to match," I agreed, savoring the taste of proper tea Oleg had procured for me. Just the right amount of cream and sugar. Not too bitter, not too sweet.

When I reached for the datapad, Oleg hid it behind his back. "Like I said, you're overthinking it. You're more than prepared for your exams. Give your mind a rest."

I frowned. "I can't. Not today. Just let me give myself a stroke, and I'll take a break when I'm dead."

_Just not today._

Petrovsky let out a long, sad sigh. One that I now knew to be genuine. "Miranda, do you trust me?"

"Of course."

"How much?"

"With my life," I answered honestly.

"Then, today, don't pretend it's not your sister's birthday." That was exactly what I didn't want to hear. "Be angry if you want. Cry in your room for an hour. Be a little reckless. But, do _not _bog yourself down with work."

I opened my mouth to argue, a seething glare sealing itself into my features. But, Petrovsky was prepared. "Before you say anything about work being a productive coping strategy, know that I'm disagreeing with you. I want you to actually enjoy the challenges I give you. Not use them as a means of distraction. That's an order."

The breath leaving my nostrils was incredibly long. My fingers and toes twitched in irritation, and I could feel the heat draining from my face as I masked my frustration. "Fine, but what am I supposed to do for the next fourteen hours?"

He smiled in success, "Well, I've got a meeting with the Illusive Man."

"About what?" I asked at once.

"I'll tell you once I know," He promised. "But, you're a teenager, and Nos Astra is a big city. Go have fun, don't do anything stupid, and I'll give you credits for lunch. Make friends."

I gave him half of a smile. "I don't have friends. Friends are liabilities."

Petrovsky rolled his eyes, though he knew it to be true. Trusting too many people came with certain sacrifices. Regardless, my mentor practically shoved me out of the break room with a reminder that he'd better not find me sulking in my room later in the day. Huffing and folding my arms across my chest, I watched him skulk away and wandered aimlessly in my own direction.

I had desperately attempted to avoid any reminders that today was in fact Oriana's birthday. I even told myself that it didn't bother me. She was safe and happy with a family that loved her, and her first birthday would be a lovely affair. But, I couldn't help wondering how much she had aged. If she was speaking. _Probably._ Toddling and able to give others an earful. I found myself wondering what her voice was like. How she would speak to me.

I was so lost in thought that I nearly collided face first into the lanky frame of an old acquaintance.

He made no move to give return my personal space, so I was forced to subtly retreat a few steps backwards to fully glare up into dark, amused eyes.

"Got your head in the clouds, Lawson?" He teased.

"Got a map?" I retorted. "Because I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to be here today."

Lieutenant Lentz held up his hands defensively. "Hey, I know where I'm supposed to be. I just thought I'd pop in for a visit before I went to go look after your-"

Gruffly clearing my throat, I pegged Lentz with a hostile glare that dissuaded him from finishing that sentence.

Nodding in understanding, the operative smiled charmingly and glanced around the fairly empty corridor. Lowering his voice, he offered, "Look, I just wanted to see if you'd like to take the day off? Go see something kind of cool?"

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. "Like what?"

"It's a surprise," He whispered mischievously.

"I'm not a big surprise person."

Lentz turned on his heel, and motioned for me to follow him outside. "Aw, well. You'll just have to trust me when I say it's a good one. Come on, Miranda."

_**1300 Hours, Tuesday, January 14, 2183 / Tortuga, Hispaniola System, Santa Maria Cluster, Nemean Abyss / 3 years, 4 months, 14 days Pre Reaper invasion of Earth**_

"So this is Tortuga?" Jacob scrunched up his nose with sheer dissatisfaction. "Lovely place."

"It's not all that bad, really." I mused, shading my eyes from the harsh glare of the sun smoldering its way through the hazy taupe atmosphere.

Like any remote civilization on the fringe of the Nemean Abyss, Tortuga was well accustomed to piracy. Of course, seeing as the grand majority of the planet's residents were in fact nomadic scalawags longing for a free port without trade tariffs, and the location was outside of the jurisdiction of any particular race, Tortuga was not warred over by rival clans. Even pirates wanted to have free reign over their own homes.

Jacob grimaced at me as though I'd suddenly grown another head.

Placing my hand on my hip, I shot him a disbelieving stare. "Well, I wouldn't buy a summer home."

Hell would have frozen over before I even allowed myself the consideration. Crime rates were exorbitant, so it wasn't particularly safe. The ambiance was severely lacking in sophistication, and- _Oh, there's a turian with his hand around the throat of a volus._- Tortuga was wild and uncivilized, but in the grand scheme of the wicked ways of the universe there were far worse places.

Like Anhur.

Jacob and I trudged at an even pace down the cluttered docking ramp, and away from the corsair ship I had hired to fly us- and anything we picked up- to and from our leads. In contrast to the ease of poise and inconspicuous nature I had mastered, the marine kept a tight hold on his shotgun and a weary eye on his surroundings. Every few seconds he would bristle as another daunting character lurked past, unwittingly attracting onlookers.

"Put your gun down," I muttered under my breath, my eyes strained ahead, sweeping the area for immediate danger.

With a sharp expression, Jacob sneered at me with ground teeth. "This place is a firefight just waiting to happen."

"And you're asking for a reason to start one." Subtly gesturing between the small cluster of turians throwing us greedy eyes from a cargo slip and the assault rifle in my partner's grasp, I whipped up a patronizing smile. "Put your gun away."

Huffing an uncertain sigh, Jacob did as he was told and slung the shotgun over his shoulder as we rounded a corner into a marketplace in pursuit of our informant. Tucked into a pocket of boulevards just a few hundred yards from the port, merchants chattered back and forth. Some waved beads and garments at potential customers, others howled orders to the dockworkers unloading goods into the warehouses they were backed up against. Several different genres of music blared from apartments and bars. Brawlers stumbled out of saloons, and others were evicted by bouncers.

"You stick out like a sore thumb in that armor." A shifty-looking salarian I'd been keeping an eye on stepped out from the shadows at the edge of an alleyway.

"Told him that myself, actually." I consented, crossing my arms over my chest. I gave the crowd we were detached from a once over, and noted that only turians and krogans were dressed in full armor. Batarians and humans tended to wear chestplates and carry sidearms. They certainly were not adorned in the white and navy blue of an Alliance marine.

Resisting the urge to roll my eyes as Jacob leveled his weapon at the slimy amphibian was impossible. Especially when he barked, "Who the hell are you?"

_At least he's on guard._

The salarian's hand shot straight into the air. Good to know he hadn't changed. Still a coward in all his might. His nervous eyes flickered between myself, and the barrel of Jacob's gun. "Call me Ish. I'm a friend of Miranda's."

Taylor looked to me for clarification.

"Something like that," I shrugged. Friendship was not exactly how I would have described our relationship. Amiable? Of course. Ill will intended? None. Mutual trust? Absolutely not. I flashed a smile, "Good to see you again, Ish. This is Jacob Taylor. What do you have for us?"

"Is it time for Nazario to pay his dues?" The salarian countered with a gleam in his large oval eyes. Something told me that Ish most certainly hoped so.

"We just have some questions for him." Jacob corrected.

"Is that human-speak for 'pump him full of lead'?" Keenly interested, there was no disguising the fact that Ish strongly desired to hear Nazario's eulogy played over local news.

"Always a possibility, but hopefully it won't come to that," I disagreed with a clipped tone.

"Trust me, Miranda." I nearly snorted in disbelief with the salarian's plea. I trusted Ish no further than I could throw him- without biotics that was. There were times his deals were shoddy at best, but the slimy little amphibian was a fountain of information, and I could almost admire his greedy, unattached entrepreneurial spirit. Even still, seven feet was too long of a leash. "I'm...well acquainted with Illo Nazario. No matter how hard you try, someone is going to wind up shot."

Jacob's sullen expression became even more pronounced. "I can't imagine anyone that lives here is an all around good guy."

"Nazario has a habit of running weapons from here to the Batarian Fringe. He's been working with them for years. It's easy clientele- so long as Nazario doesn't accidentally send a human to deliver his goods. That could cost him an employee, and more importantly- a sale."

"Does he do that a lot?" Jacob inquired, clearly disturbed by the prospect of a few of our own race winding up in the dutiful hands of a sworn enemy. I found myself wondering if Jacob had ever actually witnessed the horror Hegemony was capable of inflicting on others as well as their own- like I had on Anhur.

"Send humans into Batarian Space?" Ish quirked his large teal-streaked head to the side. "No, not usually. Unless he's got a very naive volunteer, or a real problem with him. Illo is a businessman, and he's well aware of what would happen if his supplies were shipped in by the wrong the person. Nazario has a client list as long as my arm and enough thugs to take on an army. So, some of his men are expendable."

"What usually happens to the humans he deploys?" Jacob grimaced.

"You haven't come across many batarians, have you?"

"The ones I've run into have had a habit of shooting at me." It took him a moment to realize he had answered his own question.

I cleared my throat, "While I appreciate trivia I'm already in the possession of, I'm not paying you to withhold information from me, Ish. Or security access cards."

"Right." He coughed into his three-fingered palm, and straightened himself. "Rumor has it he hasn't cut any deals in the last couple of weeks. Some folks think he's planning something big."

"Such as?" I implored.

Ish frowned. "You'd have to ask him that yourself. Of course, you might not be able to. Others think he might be dead."

"Explain." I demanded.

"As far as anyone knows, Nazario has been holed up in the center of his compound for the past couple of weeks. No has seen him leave. It's just east by a few blocks. I'll give you the navpoint."

"Then we'd better get in there now," Mr. Taylor decided.

"Agreed."

"I've got the codes for the back door, Miranda. That's how you'll want to get inside. The guards have been monitoring the front perimeter to scare people off. Some batarian pirates just moved in, and they've made everyone a little weary."

Something told me those batarians had been bad for business.

Ish chirped after I pilfered a few credits into his account. "The codes change every three hours, so act fast. Lovely working with you again, Miranda. And it was nice knowing you, Mister Taylor."

Not ten minutes later, Jacob and I had infiltrated the rear entrance to the rather large compound through the smallest of five conjoined warehouses. With a pleased smirk, I drew my gun and whispered, "Ah, Ish. So useless and useful at the same time."

"You sure have some interesting friends."

"You don't know the half of it." I told him before checking the thermal friendly-foe scanner on my omni-tool. "Scanners show a lot of unfriendly blips further inside, Jacob. Ish wasn't kidding about Illo having a lot of thugs. We'll need to be careful."

As diligent as we were, we still wound up stockpiled with a barrage of turian guards. Unfortunately, the noise of that particular gunfight led us to be ambushed by the very same batarian pirates that Ish had shown no particular fondness for.

"Ish set us up!" Jacob growled as he dove for cover behind a rail of shipments.

I was instinctively defensive of my contact as I fired two shots into the foreheads of two pirates with my Predator. "It's not like Ish to…Oh, what am I saying? This is definitely something he would do."

"Do you have a habit of friends stabbing you in the back?" Jacob's face contorted in anger as he narrowly avoided being struck with a plethora of enemy fire.

Detonating Jacob's pull with a vicious warp field, I ripped apart three enemies that had wandered too close. "I don't expect Ish to meet a happy end. His track record isn't the best."

"But we trusted him anyways?"

"Not completely."

As we advanced through the hallways, we were confronted by a smug batarian, five of his men, and their guns. We held our ground, biotics flaring on our shoulders as he tilted his head back and laughed. "I wondered what kind of warped souls could leave me all these turian corpses. Figures it would be a pair of filthy _humans_. You lot really do despise them as much as you hate us. What's it like to have so many enemies?"

"What's it like to be an isolationist?" I spat back.

"_Rrgh_. If it weren't for your people, we wouldn't have had to leave Citadel space."

"That's unlikely." I motioned to the guns in their arms. "So, you here to assassinate the arms dealer?"

"Nazario?" He laughed, shaking his head. "Nah, we're just here to remind him who he's dealing with."

"I take it you've worked with Illo in the past?" Jacob asked.

"We're not here to discuss business with you, humans," The pirate spat, his visor hostilely narrowing in to focus on us. "Out of the way, or you're just another pair of corpses on the pile. I've got no qualms killing a couple of your kind."

_I'm sure you don't._

"We've had a bad day. I'd recommend stepping out of the way. After all, we created that pile," I reminded him, lethally flaring my blue corona.

The batarian visually cringed at the sight. Biotics were something of a rarity amongst his people, and he certainly hadn't expected to run into two humans with the rare control over element zero. He stuttered, "Uh, yeah. We don't want any trouble. Sounds like you're here to do our job for us anyways. Turn back, men, let's leave these humans."

We kept our guns trained on their backs during their entire retreat before we reeled on the red-lit lock they had been attempting to hack just before our arrival. I frowned when I saw the results on my combat scanner. "There's at least four turians behind the door. Well armed, and expecting us. If we can get past them, we'll know exactly what's happened to Nazario."

Jacob hugged his shotgun to his chest as he took cover on the left side of the door. I was only on point long enough to hack through the lock. The moment the light flickered from crimson to ivy, I slammed my fist against it. When the doors parted, I raised a glowing fist, and Jacob dove to my side, aiming his own weapon at three turian guards.

No shots were fired.

All that came was a frail, doubly harmonic voice from the cot just behind the thugs. "Please, no shooting. No more fighting. We're no threat to you humans."

"Illo Nazario?" I asked, approaching the bedside cautiously as his men lowered their weapons and stepped aside.

"That's me," He coughed into his talons. Unlike most turians, he was bare-faced. World-less, or a spacer. They were not trusted amongst his people, and I saw no reason to completely disregard that aspect of such an alien culture. The rims beneath his eyes were uncharacteristically purple, and the sheet white appearance of his carapace was a dead giveaway to the lack of oxygen in his blood. Illo Nazario was ill.

"You look like you're on your deathbed." I murmured, looking to see if Jacob was drawing any conclusions.

"I am," Nazario barked, this time spitting up a trace of blue blood into the palm of his hand.

"Does this have anything to do with those batarians outside?" Jacob wondered.

"Batarians?" Nazario echoed. It was becoming more and more obvious that he was slipping. "I haven't had any business with them…Not since…Not since they did this to me."

My eyes grew wide in realization. "They did this to you?"

He nodded and attempted to sit up on his makeshift cot. With a shaky hand, he clawed for the glass of water on the nightstand. One of his personnel immediately groped for it, and offered it to him carefully. "I didn't think it was anything to be worried about…Especially not for humans. I ended our business relationship the minute I realized…"

"Realized what?" I demanded as he entered another coughing fit.

I did my best to keep my voice level, but the implications behind Nazario's illness were severely disconcerting. If both turians and batarians could be infected by this biological weapon, then it was exactly as Batha and I had hypothesized.

Mutagenic. Capable of attacking every race on the Citadel. Which meant these pirates were aiming to exterminate more than just Ambassador Jath'Amon. More than just the rumors. More than batarians planning to attack the Citadel on the day of Jath'Amon's visit. More than simply disrupting the peace talks.

They were aiming to take out every species on the station. Every ambassador and councilor in the meeting. The Council and humanity's Alliance were in peril.

Our problem had just become astronomical in proportion.


End file.
